Brothers In Arms
by The Nightrunners
Summary: (AU Modern-Day) Part 2 has started. Warning: Do *not* perform CPR on the elf unless you want to drastically screw up your life.
1. Prelude

Prologue:

The old man sat on a park bench and watched the world pass by.

He watched as the people laughed, cried, dreamed, fought, smiled, sobbed, were born, died, and killed each other in a never-ending cycle. He understood it all, knew the cycle intimately. 

For every action there is an equal and an opposite reaction. Newton was talking about physics when he made that claim, but the man on the bench knew it worked for life as well.

Tried to convince Newton of the fact as well. Bloody stubborn bastard had refused to see the truth in that statement. Oh well. Sir Isaac was dead and gone and stuffed in a hole in the ground and he was still here, wasn't he?

But the man was old and his thoughts strayed. What had he been thinking of? Oh yes, the cycle, that never-ending flux where fantasy and reality mixed to form a new whole, a new reality.

The man could see it: could watch as the pieces slowly twisted in their eternal dance. He knew that they were all coming together once more, the individual pieces, would twist together and bond to form a complete picture. 

This picture formed but once in a thousand lifetimes, when an infinite number of variables combined in one particular fashion.

The odds against such a happening...well, the old man wasn't entirely sure what the odds were, as mathematics had never been his strong point. But it was certainly a very large number.

But here his thoughts digressed once more. He really did not care about the mathematical probabilities. He just wanted to see the picture.

It would be damned funny when it happened, and he literally wouldn't miss it for the world. Behind what comic masks would ancient friends hide?

The old man (who really wasn't a man at all) rose slowly, yet gracefully, from his seat on the bench, and disappeared into the teeming mass of humanity.

Into New York City.


	2. Prologue

Prologue:  
  


Soundtrack:

Beautiful Day (U2)

The heart is a bloom  
Shoots up through the stony ground  
There's no room  
No space to rent in this town

You're out of luck  
And the reason that you had to care  
The traffic is stuck  
And you're not moving anywhere

You thought you'd found a friend  
To take you out of this place  
Someone you could lend a hand  
In return for grace

It's a beautiful day  
Sky falls, you feel like  
It's a beautiful day  
Don't let it get away

You're on the road  
But you've got no destination  
You're in the mud  
In the maze of her imagination

You love this town  
Even if that doesn't ring true  
You've been all over  
And it's been all over you

It's a beautiful day  
Don't let it get away  
It's a beautiful day

Touch me  
Take me to that other place  
Teach me  
I know I'm not a hopeless case

See the world in green and blue  
See China right in front of you  
See the canyons broken by cloud  
See the tuna fleets clearing the sea out  
See the Bedouin fires at night  
See the oil fields at first light  
And see the bird with a leaf in her mouth  
After the flood all the colors came out

It was a beautiful day  
Don't let it get away  
Beautiful day

Touch me  
Take me to that other place  
Reach me  
I know I'm not a hopeless case

What you don't have you don't need it now  
What you don't know you can feel it somehow  
What you don't have you don't need it now  
Don't need it now  
Was a beautiful day  
  


The old man sat on a park bench and watched the world pass by.  
  


He watched as the people laughed, cried, dreamed, fought, smiled, sobbed, were born, died, and killed each other in a never-ending cycle. He understood it all, knew the cycle intimately.   
  


For every action there is an equal and an opposite reaction. Newton was talking about physics when he made that claim, but the man on the bench knew it worked for life as well.  
  


Tried to convince Newton of the fact as well. Bloody stubborn bastard had refused to see the truth in that statement. Oh well. Sir Isaac was dead and gone and stuffed in a hole in the ground and he was still here, wasn't he?  
  


But the man was old and his thoughts strayed. What had he been thinking of? Oh yes, the cycle, that never-ending flux where fantasy and reality mixed to form a new whole, a new reality.  
  


The man could see it: could watch as the pieces slowly twisted in their eternal dance. He knew that they were all coming together once more, the individual pieces, would twist together and bond to form a complete picture.   
  


This picture formed but once in a thousand lifetimes, when an infinite number of variables combined in one particular fashion.  
  


The odds against such a happening...well, the old man wasn't entirely sure what the odds were, as mathematics had never been his strong point. But it was certainly a very large number.  
  


But here his thoughts digressed once more. He really did not care about the mathematical probabilities. He just wanted to see the picture.  
  


It would be damned funny when it happened, and he literally wouldn't miss it for the world. Behind what comic masks would ancient friends hide?  
  


The old man (who really wasn't a man at all) rose slowly, yet gracefully, from his seat on the bench, and disappeared into the teeming mass of humanity.  
  


Into New York City. 


	3. And so it Begins

And so it Begins:

It was a dreary night in April. Icy, clammy fog clung around the streetlights, drifting from the alleys, plunging past layers of clothes to chill the various denizens of the street. 

The weather matched the mood of Officer Adam Gordon perfectly.

Sipping a paper cup of coffee long since cold, Adam grimaced and brushed his shaggy brown hair out of his face. He hated having Squad Car 47, (it smelled like cat piss), he hated getting stuck with the graveyard shift, and more than anything, he hated having a patrol circuit in Necropolis.

Necropolis. City of the Dead. A fitting title for a such a festering sinkhole of suffering, rage, and despair. It was here that magic stalked in the shadows, mage gangs battled their never-ending turf wars, and dark messiahs led demonic followers through the streets. Necropolis was a nightmare come true, where fallen angels and demons played their games with the mere mortals below. A Darwinian society gone mad: consuming the weak and helpless. Pompous politicians loved to point out Necropolis as everything that was wrong with magic. 

Necropolis, the ultimate perversion of the beautiful borough it had once been. Manhattan had gotten hit hard during the war. Here was the result.

A loud sigh brought him back to the present. His partner was sitting in the driver's seat, rubbing her tired eyes in a way that seemed so damn sexy.

Alice Starr, his partner. The Royal Dowager Empress of the Ice-Queens. Toughest cop in Precinct 111. The black-haired, blue-eyed witch who walked like a dancer and could nail you with a lightening bolt from a hundred feet away.

The woman Adam had loved since he'd first laid eyes on her.

Adam was no romantic, and would probably feed you your own fingers should you even suggest it. But icy, sarcastic Alice Starr somehow managed to fire up every nerve in his body with her mere presence.

She turned to meet his stare, blue gaze boring into his grey eyes. "What are you looking at, Gordon?" she growled, fists clenched tight around the wheel as they cruised down one of the narrow streets. Most of the incandescents in the street lamps had burned out long ago, leaving scattered islands of light in the gloom. Alice pulled over at the curb and set the engine to idle.

"There's been reports of gang activity in the this area." said Alice, grabbing Adam's coffee and draining it. She wiped her mouth, and continued. "Apparently, headquarters thinks one squad car on patrol will solve all the problems." If sarcasm was electricity, Alice Starr would be a power station.

"No shit there's gang activity here," grumbled Adam, his bad mood returning, "There's gang activity everywhere. Mages, druggies, what is it this time?"

"Mages, I think. Turf war. More chimaera to worry about. How wonderful." Alice lapsed into silence once more.

"There was a drug bust in Queens this morning." Adam remarked casually, trying to keep the conversation going. "We seized over a ton of pure flight."

"Great. Deprive the druggies, so they get violent. Another mess for us to clean up." Alice wasn't exactly known for her amazing social skills, so Adam felt encouraged that she'd even answered him. 

"Any new leads on the subway kidnappings?"

"No," answered Alice reluctantly. "It's insane. Nine women from every possible ethnic and economic background, disappearing in the last few months, every crime scene marked with a ring of blood. The Seers keep pestering us with theories, each one more stupid than the last." Alice sighed, rubbing her eyes again. "Sometimes, I really hate magic."

"Bit rich coming from you, the most powerful witch in the precinct!" Adam countered, and was rewarded by Alice's tight little smirk, the closest she ever got to a smile. Suddenly, she froze, her blue eyes widening. "Quiet." she mouthed, and Adam tensed, seeing movement out of the corner of his eye.

An impossibly huge form materialized across the street, vanishing into the shadows of an alley. Alice held her tense pose for a few moments longer, then exhaled. 

"What was it?" asked Adam, his heart rate slowly returning to normal.

"Chimaera." she answered grimly. "A big one. Hunting."

Chimaera, the name for a breed of magically-created monsters. "Too big for two cops to handle." agreed Adam. "Send out a warning, anyway."

As Alice busied herself with the radio, sending out a chimaera warning to all the local newsscreens, Adam fiddled with his empty coffee cup, mustering his courage. "Do you remember what this place was like before the war?" he asked, and almost immediately wished he hadn't. Alice despised discussing her past, even indirectly, and Adam was afraid that she'd fireball him if he didn't tread carefully.

To his surprise, Alice seemed to consider the question. "Manhattan?" Pursing her lips, she answered thoughtfully. "A little bit. The orphanage director took us skating in Central Park once. It was a sunny day in February, and the rink was covered with skaters..." she trailed off, losing herself in one of her few happy memories. For a moment, you could almost see a bright-eyed little girl, red-cheeked from the cold, laughing as she danced over the ice. Then the walls slammed up again, and Alice Starr was once more the hardened witch-cop. She glanced at Adam. "What about you?"

"Me?" He paused for a moment, sifting through memories. "I never saw Manhattan. My parents died when I was ten, and I lived with my dad's friend in Paris until after the war. Then I came here."

"Paris?" asked Alice, raising one eyebrow. She shook her head. "That's not what they call it anymore."

"Yeah, now it's the 'White City'. Only the French could make a nuclear winter sound romantic."

"Do you still talk to him? Your parents' friend, I mean."

Adam shook his head ruefully. "No, I kind of burned that bridge. He wanted me to take my place in my father's company, but I had other plans. So, as soon as they got the airlines up and running after the war, I took the first flight out. That was ten years ago."

Ten years ago. The thought echoed around his head, buried in regrets and lost hope. Twenty-one years old, running away from Darryl and Barry and the corporation. Running away from the life that had killed his parents.

Ten years ago, and here he was, thirty-one years old, still running.

"And who would have ever thought this was where you'd end up?" Alice broke into his thoughts. She gave a bitter little laugh. "Trying to stop the eternal gang wars of a magic-infested city in a squad car that smells like cat piss." She smirked again. "Maybe you should have stayed in Paris, Gordon."

Adam wanted to answer, tell her that he'd leave Paris a million times over if it meant that he'd meet her, but he didn't. He held back.

During the events which followed, Adam had many opportunities to wish he'd told Alice that he loved her that night. Threads of destiny were starting to interweave, setting in motion a chain of events which were cataclysmic in proportion.

But Adam Gordon didn't know this. All he knew was it was foggy outside, his coffee was gone, and he was in love with his partner...

...and then several destinies collided with a resounding smack.

"Gordon, look." Alice 'directed' Adam's line of sight with the help of a knock in the head.

"Ow! Crap, that's gonna leave a bruise..."

"Crybaby."

Adam glanced up from rubbing his head, and saw something that was indeed out of the ordinary. A pedestrian. In Necropolis. Alone. After dark.

"Do you think he's brave, stupid, or suicidal?" asked Alice, her tone wry.

"Does he have to choose?" said Adam, still watching the figure, who had paused to stand under the yellow light of a streetlamp, no more than twenty feet away. A young man wearing a long black leather duster, damp from the clinging fog. His skin was pale, glowing slightly in the cold light. Long blond hair pooled over his shoulders, knotted back under a forest green bandana. As the young man turned away onto the street, Adam could see a black tattoo glowing starkly against the pale skin of his neck.

"Mage killer," commented Adam, "See his tattoo?"

"Good-looking kid." said Alice, raising an eyebrow. "What's he doing out alone at night? He doesn't look like the run-of-the-mill street denizen..."

"Runaway, maybe?"

"Running to Necropolis?" Alice looked sceptical. "I doubt it. We should let him crash in the back seat, Gordon. No way is it safe to be wandering the streets alone."

Adam was about to reply when the screech of tires on wet pavement interrupted him. "What the hell-" he began.

Both cops felt their eyes widen in horror as an old black car careened around the corner, bouncing over the curb. The kid tried to dodge, but he didn't have a chance. The black car clipped him, sending him flying through the air, slamming into the sidewalk in a tangle of black leather and golden hair.

"Shit!" screamed Alice. She slammed on the sirens. "Gordon! Help the kid! I'll send the medics!" Adam leapt out of the car, slamming the door as Alice narrowly avoided flattening him. The squad car roared off, sirens flashing, chasing the black car into the gloom.

The kid was lying in a spreading pool of blood, eyes fluttering, limbs crumpled and splayed at odd angles. Adam swore and felt his throat for a pulse.

Nothing.

Adam swore again, leaned over the young man's face, and blew two quick breaths between his parted lips. Moving to his chest, the cop fell back on his training as he started CPR, ribs popping out of place with a disgusting snap.

Fifteen reps, two more breaths, fifteen more reps. Despite the chill, sweat streamed down Adam's face, and he strained his ears for the wail of medsirens.

Halfway through the second set of reps, almost dazed from the strain, Adam nearly screamed as the young man's eyes flew open, and he sucked a deep breath, his fingers locking around Adam's wrists in a death grip.

The cop stumbled backwards, watching in disbelief as the blond man sucked several deep breaths, snapping his shoulders back and his spine forward, arching upwards, rolling into a crouch in one fluid motion.

Adam's mind had gone numb. 'This cannot be happening. This is not possible.'

The young blond paused to brush the dirt from his coat. "Goddammit." he grimaced. "Bloodstains. I'm going to have to get this cleaned." He reached up and adjusted his bandana, tugging it more securely over his head.

Adam was trying to force his vocal cords into action, but his brain was still in shock. The young man patted his shoulder reassuringly and grinned at him. "It's okay, I'm fine. Thanks, Officer."

The blond man started away, his gait barely slowed, leaving Adam crouched over a pool of drying blood. He threw a cheery grin over his shoulder at the dumbstruck cop, and vanished into the shadows, singing softly to himself.

Adam sat on the curb and rubbed his eyes, hearing the wail of approaching med-sirens, and wondering what the hell he was going to tell them. Your dead kid just got up and walked away. Bloody nuisance, isn't it?

No one had noticed the figure crouched in a doorway of an abandoned building across the street, watching the scene with wide blue eyes.


	4. A Most Excellent and Admirable Rocker

A Most Excellent and Admirable Rocker...

Felix Baker slid fluidly through the shadows of the abandoned buildings. He was moving as quickly as he dared, as it was dark, and Necropolis wasn't safe in broad daylight. He wouldn't have minded so much if he weren't alone, but somebody had to arrange the band's booking at a nearby club, and he'd been the only one available. Now he and his friends were gainfully employed at the Outer Limits for the next week. It was a crappy little dance club several blocks away, but they paid half decent money. Felix had wrangled a few more dollars onto their fee, but the delay had cost him. Now he had to get home as quickly as possible, because he was late and Sam would be worried.

Fuck Sam, if he didn't get home soon he'd be dead! So far, his luck had held; he hadn't met another person in the gloomy streets. He blended well with his surroundings, a lifetime on the streets had taught him how to move swiftly and silently. He darted from shadow to shadow, his movements graceful despite his lanky six-foot frame.

Felix pulled the collar of his dark jacket higher, attempting to cover his face. This might keep the rogue mages and the flight addicts from seeing him, he decided, but it wouldn't do jackshit against the chimera and their night vision.

This idea firmly in mind, he picked up his pace and rounded the corner onto a new street a bit faster than was safe. He froze, crouching instinctively into a darkened doorway as he saw another figure halfway down the street.

Silhouetted by a street lamp, a slender figure in a dark coat meandered across the pitted asphalt of the street, seemingly oblivious to any danger. Felix watched incredulously as the man stopped, turning in his direction.

Shit. The guy was probably flying, enough to be dangerous. Or maybe it was a street mage, who could flame Felix into dust before he could twitch. Either way, it was not good.

The man was still facing him, and Felix realized that he wasn't looking, he was listening! The blond stranger cocked his head, and Felix held his breath, not moving a muscle. Eventually the man tired of searching the shadows, and began to move off down the street. Felix unconsciously relaxed. 

Then, without warning, a black car roared around the bend and sent the unknown man flying. At almost the same instant, sirens flared to life as a previously hidden cop car surged out of the shadows after the other car.

Felix saw none of this. He was gripped by a strangely familiar sense of panic as he observed the stranger lying in a pool of blood. It was within this fear that he watched one of the police officers approaching the grievously injured man. A part of him screamed "Help him! For the love of god, you've got to save him!". This part knew somehow, that this man was important -no, vital. He had to be saved. But Felix's street instincts told him to stay put, not to move, not to give himself away.

So he watched, torn, as the cop checked the man's pulse, swore, and started CPR. Then disbelief took hold as he watched the injured man rise, shaking off his injuries, just like that. There was a dreamlike quality to the entire scene, and Felix's mind nearly shut down, overwhelmed.

Eventually, he came back to himself, long after the squad car had returned with the medics. Trying desperately to quell his panic, he headed towards his apartment building. Something of great consequence had happened, he just wasn't sure what.

One thing he did know, however: home had never seemed so far away.


	5. Housebreakers

Authors' Note:

Hello. See we promised that we'd show up every so often, and here we are. We realized after we posted the first 3 chapters that we neglected to mention the pairings in this story. The major ones are Aragorn/Arwen and Frodo/Sam. If slash squicks you or you don't like the pairings in general, please don't give up on us. The romance aspect of the story is being kept very low key, and isn't too important.

Also, a million thanks to our reviewers: Starbrat, Ana/Yavanna, Jessica, Ani Cir Ki, Erin and Samus.

Oh. Before we forget, anyone who has the inclination to draw fanart, send it to us for we would love to have it. Our e-mail address is in our bio.

Enjoy the show, the Nightrunners... 

Housebreakers

The apartment in which I lived had once been in the swankiest part of Manhattan, complete with a lovely view of the skyline and the river. Now it was Necropolis, and the view was downright bleak, but that didn't bother me too much. I could handle the magic, and I could usually outfight or outrun the street gangs.

The times I couldn't, I picked up some spectacular bruises. 

I still had my bow, but that wasn't exactly a weapon you could carry in the streets. It hung next to my bed, and I carried my knives instead. They were the same ones I had always owned, white and sharp with filagree blades. They'd been gifted to me by Thranduil, and I'd had them charmed so they would last as long as I was alive. If I was slain in battle, my knives would crumble into dust.

Thirty thousand years later, that charm is still working. Who'd have thought?

I ached all over from the hit I'd taken, but I could almost feel the bones knitting together, the bruises fading to nothingness. Good old elven healing ability, keeping me alive through the countless wounds that should have sent me shuffling off this mortal coil.

Mrs. Briggs, my landlady, opened the door for me. I was limping pretty badly at this point, and I was lucky I'd made it home without being attacked. This is Necropolis, after all, and only the strong survive. The weak die horrible deaths.

Mrs. Briggs was the oldest human I knew. She was a tiny woman, with spun- sugar white hair, failing eyesight, and limbs that were as brittle as twigs. She lived her life in a pleasant aspirin-induced fog to kill the pain in her joints and back, but she was an absolute darling. I loved her. She seemed oblivious to the dangers of the streets, and whenever she went out, hobbling down the sidewalk to the grocery store, or laundromat, I always tailed her to make sure she made it home alive.

"Goodness glory, Mr. Leo!" she exclaimed as she let me in. "What happened to you?" Thank the Valar that she couldn't see well enough to realize my clothes were blood soaked.

"Had a little run-in with a car. I won, I think." I cracked my neck as she began fussing over me, brushing the dirt from my coat and face. I smiled at her. "I'm fine, really. Just a bit sore."

She smiled back at me, her brown eyes cloudy with cateracts. "You go on up to bed, love. I'll bring up chicken soup tomorrow."

Bless this woman.

"Many thanks, Mrs. Briggs." I kissed her faded cheek and she giggled coquettishly.

"Now, Mr. Leo, don't you go teasing an old woman like that!"

I smiled at her over my shoulder as I headed towards the rickety old staircase. I was halfway there before she called out to me again.

"Oh, dear boy, I almost forgot. Your cousins rang, around suppertime, looking for you."

I felt the smile fall off my face. "Cousins?" I asked tentatively.

"Yes," she beamed, unaware of my turmoil. "Two lovely blond boys. They asked to wait in your apartment, so I sent them up. Your family must have Swedish blood, Mr. Leo!"

I managed a grin and a nod of thanks, and I turned up the stairs.

Like I said before, my building was once extremely nice. I lived in the penthouse apartment, which means I have to climb ten flights of stairs to get there.

It was the longest ten flights of my life, and when you're immortal, that's saying something. Two blond men, claiming to cousins, waiting in my apartment. It seemed either insane, or far too good to be true. I wasn't even breathing hard when I got to the top. Pausing in front of my door, doubt crept in. Don't rush in, my instinct whispered, it could be a trap.

So, with a quiet snickt, I drew my knives. I took a deep breath, and kicked the door open.

He was waiting for me. Of course, elven ears could have heard me talking ten floors down in the lobby.

I felt a grin start to creep across my face as I sheathed my knives. "Well, shit. This is a surprise."

Glorfindel smiled sedately as he stood up. "Hello, Legolas." The smile suddenly dropped off his face. "By the Valar, what happened to you?"

"Car hit me." I answered, tossing my coat on the chair by the door. 

Glorfindel raised one eyebrow. "Pray tell, how did you manage to do that?"

"Give me a break," I grumbled. "I wasn't paying attention. I'm over thirty-thousand years old. I'm old. And senile. I'm allowed to let my mind wander occasionally." Then, I moved across the floor and I embraced the other elf like the old friends we were. Glorfindel let the high-and-mighty-Elven-Lord mask fall away, and we stood grinning at each other like we were five hundred again.

"It's good to see you again, my friend." Glorfindel said, settling back into my favourite chair. "How long has it been?"

"I think we were both in court for a while when Galadriel was the Queen of England."

"Right, Elizabeth I."

"You've changed a bit."

"So have you."

"Yeah, but at the time it was doublets, hose, and codpieces."

Glorfindel did look different. He was dressed in a tasteful grey business suit, too expensive to be wearing in the streets of Necropolis. His gorgeous golden hair had been clipped to his shoulders, and he wore it pulled back at the nape of his neck. But there was no mistaking those vivid blue eyes, electric and full of life. Glorfindel had been one of the most powerful of the Eldar, and it didn't look as though thirty thousand years had changed that. The Elf who had once ruled Imladris beside Elrond Peredhil now looked like an up-and-coming young business executive.

"Did you come alone?" I asked, glancing around. I kept a pretty nice apartment, lots of windows and flowering trees, with some powerful rune-spells to keep out thieves. I didn't see anybody else.

Glorfindel rolled his eyes, and I grinned. "Yeah, I had some company. He's in the bloody kitchen."

A very familiar voice rang out. "Do you have anything to drink in this place other than coffee and this snotty filtered water?"

I laughed at the well-remembered voice, and the tone he used. "There's a bottle of Lake Merlot in the sideboard. 2032. A good year."

"Year before the war." Haldir agreed, poking his head out the kitchen door. "Hello, Legolas. Have you got glasses anywhere?"

"Cupboard over the fridge."

"Great."

I exchanged glances with Glorfindel, and we both burst out laughing. Haldir,

ex-Galadrhim of 'Lorien, was also clad in a respectable business suit, his icy blond hair cut in a rough shag which I had no doubt many women found quite fetching. He carried out wineglasses and distributed them with the flair of a magician producing rabbits from a hat.

"Careful with those." I said, raising an eyebrow. "They came from the Sun King's court, and I can't exactly replace them."

Haldir rolled his eyes. "Rather attached to your material possessions, are you, my dear Prince?"

I shook my head. "Not really, but the Louvre has been drooling after that set for years. If I ever run out of money, I plan to sell them."

Haldir settled back in a chair, sipping wine from the delicate crystal glass. "By the Valar, we've missed you, Legolas."

"I've missed you too," I answered, realizing how long it had been since I'd last heard elven voices. "More than you'll ever know, in fact." I felt a slight frown creeping across my face. "But tell me. Why are you here? Something tells me it's not a social call."

"I wish it was," Glorfindel matched my frown. "Legolas, exactly how out of touch are you with the other Elves?"

"Ummm..." I felt myself blushing. "I saw Elladan and Elrohir at the Battle of Trafalgar..."

"Oh gods." Haldir took a deep sip of wine. "This is going to take all night."

"No, no," argued Glorfindel. "We can just skip ahead to the important stuff." He turned towards me. "Have you ever heard of a company called Goldenwood Enterprises?"

"Who hasn't?" I shrugged. "They were basically the only major technology firm to survive the war. They're ranked number three or four on the global scale-" Suddenly, something clicked. "Oh no. Don't tell me-"

"Galadriel is running it."

"Oh, sweet Valar."

"So's Elrond." added Haldir.

I sat still for a moment, trying to process the fact that one of the world's most powerful companies was run by Elves. The most powerful of my race, no less, the Ringbearers. I looked at my friends. "And you?"

"We work for them." Glorfindel shrugged. "Basically trying to prevent the human race from destroying themselves before they can attain some sort of peace."

I narrowed my eyes. "Were you responsible for the magic returning? I've been here since the war, and I'm telling you, this place is like Middle Earth gone to hell. It's bad magic."

"Bad magic," Haldir agreed. "But we didn't do it. Magic just...happened."

Glorfindel was nodding. "The conditions were ripe for it, Legolas. So much happiness, so much pain and agony, so much conflict..." He set down his wineglass and brushed his hands together. "Like tectonic plates rubbing against each other to create an earthquake. The humans created the magic, my friend. Not us."

"They used magic as a weapon in their war, and they used it to cure kids with cancer." Haldir flicked his fingers at one of my trees. "Sometimes, it blooms." He paused, then pointed out the window to the black streets of Necropolis. "Sometimes, it festers. It's unpredictable, like the humans." 

"They can't control it." I reasoned. "They don't know how."

"Exactly." said Glorfindel. "That's why places like Necropolis exist. They're sinkholes of fear and pain, of the raw emotion that feeds the bad magic. The humans created the magic, good and bad, and they fuel it constantly with their positive and negative emotions."

"In most cases, unfortunately, there's a lot more negative emotions than good ones." Haldir added. "That's why magical monsters pick people off the street in broad daylight, and why most bars won't let mages in."

"The mages, witches, and wizards can to control the magic," Glorfindel clarified. "To a certain extent, anyway. But a lot of the magical energy is too powerful for even the strongest humans. Only the Istari could harness it safely." He shrugged. "And nobody's seen them for millennia."

"I know all this," I said in exasperation, flashing them the tattoo on my neck. "Mage killer, remember? But you still haven't answered my first question. Why are you here?"

Glorfindel looked uncomfortable. "Well...I can't really tell you. Our job was just to find you."

"And bring me to Galadriel and Elrond." I finished dryly.

"Sort of." answered Haldir, who looked downright fidgety. "Will you come?"

I pondered the question. I'd broken off ties with my people a long time ago. I was a wanderer, a drifter in the world of humans. I thought I'd liked it that way, and to tell the truth, for a long time, I had. The world of men was closest I could ever get to a Fellowship again. Sad to think that the best events of my life had been thirty thousand years ago.

Glorfindel's voice broke into my thoughts. "Of course, if you really didn't want to go, we could leave New York and say we never found you. We could move on to Europe. London, maybe, or the White City..."

"Absolutely." agreed Haldir.

I smiled at them, knowing what such an outright deception could cost my friends. I slowly shook my head; there hadn't been much light in the world of humans lately. If my kin were trying to help...

"I'm game." I said. Letting my voice ring with finality, and watching the relief bloom on their faces. "Let me grab a quick shower. I've got blood in my hair."

Fifteen minutes later, I was tying my bandana over my damp hair, trying to compose a note to Mrs. Briggs at the same time; the Valar only knew when I'd be back.

"What is it with you and that bandana?" asked Haldir as I shook out my black duster.

"It covers my ears." I answered evenly. "In Necropolis, ears like this could get me worshipped. Or sacrificed. I'm not overly keen on either."

"Ah."

I locked the door behind me.


	6. A Light From the Shadows

A cheery note from the authoresses:

Hi all. Here's the next chapter of "Brothers in Arms" for your enjoyment. Standard disclaimers apply, Tolkien owns all, we own nothing, blah blah blah...don't sue. Also, after much confusion, swearing, and blowing up of computers, we've still not figured out how to use italics in HTML. Grr... So we've reverted to the tried-and-true method for the computer-illiterate: Flashbacks are between slashes ( /.../).

A truckload of thanks goes out to all our reviewers, whom we love most dearly. A couple of answers to review questions:

Europa: The prologue is one of the shortest chapters, so yes, the song is probably going to last longer. You could always write a longer review, raving about how much you love this story, until the song ends...gives best Pippin cheeky smile.

Emryn: Felix Baker and Frodo Baggins, the same person? Gasp, a conspiracy is afoot here (isn't afoot a great word?). Just wait and see...

Samus: Legolas tends to live anywhere and everywhere. He is the wanderer, after all. Besides, random black cars aside, there isn't much around that can hurt him. Too badly, at least (all three Nightrunners grin evilly). He spends more of his time concerned with other people, such as Mrs. Briggs.

Oh, and kudos to those of you who picked up on the Galadriel and Elizabeth I reference. Cate Blanchett played an award-winning Queen Elizabeth. Who knows? Maybe she was there...

And, without further ado, we bring you...Chapter Five.

Enjoy,

The Nightrunners 

A Light from the Shadows

Felix unlocked the door to the apartment with shaking hands. That was insane, what he had witnessed tonight, but he had seen it so clearly. He wished Sam had been there as well, but his best friend was presently three blocks down at the hole-in-the-wall diner where he worked part-time.

If he couldn't have Sam, he would have settled for Mark or Peter, not so practical and down to earth, but at least he wouldn't presently be entertaining thoughts of insanity. "Why is it always me?" he whispered as he finally got the door open.

The room was dark and stuffy, as neither Felix nor Sam had been there all day. He found himself longing for Sam, wishing he were waiting in the dark kitchen with hot coffee. Then Felix could have sat and confided the startling events of the night, and the frightening emotions that had gripped him.

But hadn't it always been this way? Even when they were children, Sam had been the one who would sit and listen patiently, never judging, but always managing to make things better. A ten-year-old Felix had found the young Sam, perhaps eight, wandering around Necropolis, with apparently no idea of how he had come to be there. If he remembered a life before Felix, he had never shared his memories of that time. 

Felix had decided he couldn't turn this teary eyed child to the streets once more, so he had kept the younger boy beside him and had taught him to survive in Necropolis. /...Don't talk to anybody, Sam. There's nobody we can trust here except each other. And whatever you do, don't go out after dark. When the sun goes down, we find a safe hiding place and stay there til morning. Don't go outside, Sam, or the magic will get you../

They had later moved past their childish fear of the dark, though if you weren't vigilant, the prowling nighttime magical creatures of Necropolis would get you. That is, if the street gangs didn't get you first.

Then, as a teenager, the nightmares had started. Terrifying images that flew through Felix's mind whenever he went to sleep: running, running so fast he thought his lungs would burst. Screaming shadows that followed him wherever he went. And always, black tendrils of poison crept into his mind, invading his every thought...

He would wake up drenched in sweat, clutching the thin blankets he shared with Sam, but he could never remember what had frightened him so.

He tried to hide the nightmares from Sam (who thankfully slept like a log), thinking them to be a sign of weakness, unforgivable to street kids like them. He refused to speak of them, even as the dark circles under his eyes became more pronounced, and he was left with jabbering voices in the back of his mind, which became intangible as smoke whenever he tried to hear them clearly.

Then, one night, he had woken up yet again, mind clouded with dread, and had seen Sam watching him. His friend had lain awake all night to find out what was wrong. And Felix, touched by this act of friendship, had shamefully revealed the secret. He had another fear now, that Sam would disdain him and leave him alone once more. This was as bad to Felix, if not worse, than the nightmare-induced panic. 

But Sam had surprised him. Wordlessly, he had wrapped his arms around Felix, possibly the first hug he had ever received. And abandoning all thoughts of weakness, Felix had hugged him back tightly.

Together, they had survived and even triumphed over the streets. They had close friends, a place to live, and their music. Neither the gangs, the thieves, nor the cold had killed them. 

And so, he wished desperately for his best friend and lover. Sam would have understood the feelings, so similar to those of his nightmares, when he had seen the blond man get hit by the car.

Almost without thinking, he headed for the one item of value in the cramped dwellings, apart from their instruments. His music player sat unobtrusively in one corner, but the entire room was wired for sound, and it was the one indulgence Felix allowed himself. His extensive album collection was stacked neatly beside it, and he automatically reached for one particular chip.

It had nearly been impossible to download the ancient song onto the chip. Felix had searched forever for a digital pattern that was compatible with his music system. Nobody listened to the old "classic" rock anymore. 

He slid the chip into the player, and leaned back on the battered couch and closed his eyes as the first simple guitar melody began. He imagined Sam sitting in the corner, plucking out the song. But even if Sam could play the song, nobody would listen to it. No one cared about Led Zepplin these days. He was a big hit eighty years ago, for God's sake.

"There's a lady who's sure

All that glitters is gold

And she's buying the stairway to heaven.

When she gets there she knows

If the stores are all closed

With a word she can get what she came for..."

Felix had stumbled across the song, quite by accident, a number of years ago on a truly ancient CD player. Something about the song evoked in him a feeling of longing, and inexplicable loss.

"There's a feeling I get

When I look to the west

And my spirit is crying for leaving..."

In a way, it was similar to his nightmare, which lately had seemed to come with greater frequency. When he heard this song, with its frantic melody, the jabbering voices of his dream almost spoke clearly enough for him to hear.

The singer's voice rose to a shriek, and Felix heard the pounding drums and wailing guitar screaming their own truths.

"And as we wind on down the road

Our shadows taller than our soul.

There walks a lady we all know

Who shines white light and wants to show

How everything still turns to gold.

And if you listen very hard

The tune will come to you at last..."

Felix shot up abruptly. The song continued, but he didn't hear another word of it. Perhaps it was the combination of twisted events of the night, and the words of the singer, but for a second, he heard one of the voices quite plainly. 'All that is gold does not glitter. Not all those who wander are lost.'

His blue eyes widened, the words were familiar, but clouded, as if he had heard them as a child and long since forgotten. He strained to hear the rest. "The old that is strong..." he whispered, trailing off helplessly, as the voice descended back into the constant babble.

"No!" he whispered fiercely, fighting to remember to words. "NO!" he shouted. 

He gave a scream of pure fury, collapsed back to the couch, and didn't move. The song continue on its endless loop, but there was nobody listening.

And that was how Sam found him when he entered the apartment, six hours later.


	7. Chimaera

Chimaera  
  


Soundtrack: 

Sympathy for the Devil (Guns n' Roses)  
  
Please allow me to introduce myself  
I'm a man of wealth and taste  
I've been around for a long, long year  
Stole many a man's soul and faith  
  
And I was 'round when Jesus Christ  
Had his moment of doubt and pain  
Made damn sure that Pilate  
Washed his hands and sealed his fate  
  
Pleased to meet you  
Hope you guess my name  
But what's puzzling you  
Is the nature of my game  
  
I stuck around St. Petersberg  
When I saw it was a time for a change  
Killed the Czar and his ministers  
Anastasia screamed in vain  
  
I rode a tank   
Held a general's rank  
When the Blitzkrieg raged  
And the bodies stank  
  
Pleased to meet you  
Hope you guess my name, oh yeah  
What's puzzling you  
Is the nature of my game, oh yeah  
  
I watched with glee  
While your kings and queens  
Fought for ten decades  
For the Gods they made  
  
I shouted out  
"Who killed the Kennedys?"  
When after all  
It was you and me  
  
Let me please introduce myself  
I'm a man of wealth and taste  
And I laid traps for troubadors  
Who get killed before they reached Bombay  
  
Pleased to meet you   
Hope you guessed my name, oh yeah  
But what's puzzling you  
Is the nature of my game, oh yeah, get down, baby  
  
Pleased to meet you  
Hope you guessed my name, oh yeah  
But what's confusing you  
Is just the nature of my game  
  
Just as every cop is a criminal  
And all the sinners saints  
As heads is tails  
Just call me Lucifer  
'Cause I'm in need of some restraint  
  
So if you meet me  
Have some courtesy  
Have some sympathy, and some taste  
Use all your well-learned politesse  
Or I'll lay your soul to waste

Hunt, feed, prey. Kill, maim, destroy. The chimaera stalked through the darkened streets of Necropolis. Having fed earlier in the evening, the monster was simply looking for something with which to amuse itself. The need to kill was strong in this creature of darkness and death.   
  


Created at first by fledgling mages wishing to show their power, dozens of chimaera now ran rampant through Manhattan's once elegant streets. Now entire blocks had been scarred and defiled by the dark creatures that had been created to show a mage's turf boundaries. Early in the Majic Wars, the chimaera had proven to be wild and unpredictable, monsters who fed on the blood of the living. Once a power created a chimaera, it was nearly unstoppable.  
  


The chimaera slowed its stiff-legged stalk down the street. Scenting the air, it bared its fangs in feral pleasure. There was blood on the air, and with blood came power. With reptilian grace, the black shadow passed on, the stench of death drifting behind it.


	8. Darkness Rising

Darkness Rising  
  


Soundtrack: Higher Ground (Red Hot Chili Peppers)  
  


People

Keep on learnin'

Soldiers

Keep on warrin'

World

Keep on turnin'

Cause it won't be too long

Powers

Keep on lyin'

While your people

Keep on dyin'

World

Keep on turnin'

Cause it won't be too long  
  


I'm so darn glad He let me try it again

'Cause my last time on earth I lived a whole world of sin

I'm so glad that I know more than I knew then

Gonna keep on tryin' till I reach the highest ground.  
  


Teachers

Keep on teachin'

Preachers

Keep on preachin'

World

Keep on turnin'

'Cause it won't be too long

Oh no

Lovers

Keep on lovin'

While believers

Keep on believin'

Sleepers

Just stop sleepin'

'Cause it won't be too long

Oh no  
  


I'm so darn glad He let me try it again

'Cause my last time on earth I lived a whole world of sin

I'm so glad that I know more than I knew then

Gonna keep on tryin' till I reach the highest ground  
  


And Stevie knows that, uh, nobody's gonna bring me down

Till I reach the highest ground.

'Cause me 'n' Stevie, see, we're gonna be a sailin' on the funky sound

Till I reach the highest ground.

Bustin' out, and I'll break you out, 'cause I'm sailin' on

Till I reach the highest ground

Just, uh, sailin' on, sailin' on the higher ground

Till I reach the highest ground

  
  


I clambered into the silver helicopter behind Glorfindel and Haldir. It wouldn't have lasted long in Necropolis, so they'd parked it on Ellis Island, right at the feet of old Lady Liberty.

I sighed, gazing up at the tall statue. I could remember back when she carried a torch and books: the inspiration to the tired, the poor, the huddled masses. I had seen her once, before the war. Now, she'd been almost completely rebuilt. Destroyed early in the Majic War by necromantic forces, the American people had rallied behind their new and "improved" statue.  
  


Now, the stately woman carried a shield and brandished a long sword over her head. Her expression retained its original serenity, however, and she reminded me somewhat of Justice, minus the blindfold. I found it somewhat disturbing, to tell the truth; this calm-faced woman with a warrior's pose. I wondered if she would ever again be the scholarly woman who had inspired millions.  
  


My musings were interrupted as the helicopter lurched and took off. I glanced up to see Haldir in the pilot's seat. Adjusting his headset, he pulled several levers and we were airborne.  
  


"Welcome to Haldir's taxi service, covering all of Middle-Earth, the Undying Lands, and the Modern World As We Know It. Please find your designated seat and fasten your seatbelt securely...and that includes you, my sweet prince," he announced.  
  


Glorfindel pushed me into a seat, and settled in next to me. "Any in-flight snacks?" I asked hopefully.  
  


Lobbing a bag of peanuts at my head, the elf-lord laughed. "On international flights, we serve lembas."  
  


"So where are we going?" I said curiously.  
  


"Boston. That's the closest branch of Goldenwood Enterprises. Galadriel and Elrond will meet you there."  
  


"You're kidding," I whistled.  
  


"They were even talking about bringing your father down, too."  
  


"That's a *lot* of powerful elves in one room. Whatever the hell is going on, they're serious about it."  
  


Glorfindel nodded gravely. "That they are, my friend." He shook his head, and quickly changed the subject: "How is your father, anyway?"  
  


I let the matter go, since he obviously couldn't discuss it. "Thranduil is doing pretty well. I spoke to him last year, when he bought the Queen Charlotte Islands. Most of the Mirkwood elves are living there these days."  
  


"How the hell did he manage to build himself an elven realm? How is he keeping the humans out?"  
  


"Um..." I squinted. "He got the islands reclassified as 'wildlife conservation reserves.'"  
  


"What? Elves are an endangered species now?"

I shrugged, grinning. " Who knows, it might be good for a tax break."  
  


***********  
  


The helicopter landed gently on the back lot of a tall building in downtown Boston. "Ooh, this is nice," I said approvingly.

The three of us circled the building, and entered the lobby through tall glass doors. I remembered the wonders of Mirkwood, 'Lorien, and Rivendell, but I must admit, I gaped at the sight that was the first floor of Goldenwood Enterprises.  
  


My soft tread echoed on the polished marble floors, which rose gracefully into tall white columns. At random intervals, clusters of green plants flowed across the floor.

I approached the centre of the cavernous lobby, and looked upwards in awe. A huge skylight, thirty stories up, filled the lobby with natural light. It was clear air right up to the roof, forming a sort of natural atrium. In this central area, a huge, craggy rock sat in the place of honour. From somewhere high above, water splashed down over the rock into a rippling pool.  
  


And then I looked around me, and I felt my eyes widen in delight. Smartly-dressed people hurried past me, some of them nodding towards Haldir and Glorfindel, and exchanging quick greetings. They were all elves! I turned around in place, grinning madly.  
  


"Ah, the wandering prince has returned to us," a voice remarked, and I spun to face the speaker.  
  


"By the Valar, Gildor!" I said happily.  
  


He smiled in return. "Welcome, Legolas."  
  


"Are they ready to see him?" Haldir asked.  
  


Gildor nodded. "I was sent to meet you. Come this way, please."  
  


We walked towards a bank of glass elevators in one corner of the lobby, and Gildor gestured us in, punching the button for the thirtieth floor.   
  


I stepped out, a few seconds later, and headed down a well appointed hallway. "Right there," Gildor indicated a heavy wooden doorway. "Go right in, they're expecting you."  
  


I took a deep breath, quelling the nervous beating of my heart, as I slowly opened the door and entered the room.

************  
  


The room screamed of money.  
  


Thick red carpet, heavy mahogany furniture, lots of plants and natural light. I walked over to the massive window and stared out at the sun rising over Boston. Amazing how a sunrise can make anything seem possible.  
  


Someone behind me cleared their throat. Somehow, I managed to keep from jumping. I'd been so distracted lately; once upon a time, I would have heard somebody coming half a mile off.  
  


As though reading my thoughts, the voice echoed me. "You're slipping, Prince Legolas." A *very* familiar voice.  
  


"Lord Elrond." I answered. He sounded amused. Damn him.  
  


Ah. A door behind a large palm tree that I'd not noticed before. How frightfully sneaky.  
  


The Lord of Imladris hadn't changed. His dark hair still fell neatly over his shoulders, framing his serious, intelligent face. He was dressed impeccably in a charcoal-grey business suit, his arms clasped in the small of his back.  
  


Well...there was no tiara in sight. Maybe he'd changed a *little* bit...  
  


I bowed my head. "An honour to see you again, my lord."  
  


He raised one eyebrow. "So formal, my good prince?" He indicated we should sit.  
  


"Well," I smiled mischievously, "Seeing that we last met in Octavius' court, I thought formality wouldn't go astray."  
  


He laughed as I settled into a chair. "Touché." There was a small bar in the corner, and he returned carrying a tray and three glasses. "Some miruvor? Or perhaps you would prefer the scotch."  
  


I smiled. "I would be a fool to turn down miruvor, Lord Elrond. None of the bars in my city seem to serve it."  
  


"Yes, Glorfindel tells me you've settled in New York. A fascinating city, I've heard."  
  


"Yes, if you can avoid getting eaten, worshipped, or sacrificed. I live in a bad part of town."  
  


"Necropolis."  
  


"Yes."  
  


I eyed the third glass, sitting untouched on the polished table. "I assume that we're waiting for the Lady."  
  


"Yes, she and Celeborn just returned from our Tokyo branch. They were finalising some details about an intelligence mission we're sending to Europe. Of course, there's also the day-to-day running of such a massive company. It's become something of an annoyance."  
  


I nearly choked on my drink. The head of an international technology firm, worth billions of dollars, was calling his company an annoyance, like it was a bug, or a bratty younger sibling.  
  


Elrond continued, oblivious. "But really, what can one do? Goldenwood gives us the influence and capital we need to maintain our anonymity and our eternal watch."  
  


"Do you mind telling me what exactly you are watching for?"  
  


At that moment, the heavy door swung inward, and she entered the room.  
  


The Lady of the Golden Wood had lost none of her presence since I'd last seen her. A smart black suit, blond hair piled high on her head, pale blue eyes that could see through you and dissect your very soul.  
  


I stood, as did Elrond. "My lady." I bowed.  
  


She barely spared me a glance as she swept towards a chair. Sitting down, she kicked off her heeled shoes, and pulled the pins from her hair. The elegant twist tumbled over her shoulders as she leaned forward and crossed her legs. Resting her head in her hands, she whispered something indecipherable.  
  


"Pardon?" Elrond asked politely.  
  


She raised her head ever-so-slightly and scorched him with a glare. "I said: Bring. Me. Coffee."  
  


Oh. So much for the aloof, untouchable Elven-Queen.  
  


Elrond, looking as though he would die of suppressed laughter, strode out of the room.  
  


As the door closed, she looked up, still apparently not noticing me. No, her attention was focused on something a lot more important. "Oh. Miruvor. That'll do."  
  


She snatched up *my* glass, and downed it in a single gulp. Then, before I could protest, she grabbed her own and drained it to the dregs. Tossing it aside, she leaned back with a sigh.  
  


I was internally debating hiding in the bathroom for a while when Galadriel turned her attention to me. "Oh. Legolas. How long have you been here?"  
  


"Just long enough to witness your alcoholic debauchery, my lady."  
  


Her eyes narrowed. I gulped, raising my hands defensively. "Kidding, kidding."  
  


She tilted her head. "I apologize," she said sincerely, then raised one eyebrow. "Bet you didn't know elves could get jet-lagged."  
  


"No, I didn't." Actually, I did know, but I figured I'd better agree with her. A sleep-deprived, pissed-off elven-queen was not something I wanted to deal with. As it was, I was annoyed that she'd taken my drink, but I did enjoy breathing as a casual hobby, so I wisely chose not to mention it.   
  


To my surprise, she stood up and pulled me into an embrace. Apparently, age had mellowed Galadriel somewhat. Releasing me to arm's length, she scanned my face. Relaxing, she smiled at me. "You know, if absence makes the heart grow fonder, everyone in this building would be infatuated with you."  
  


I pulled away and adopted a hurt expression. "What? How could anyone not love *me*? Just look at this face." I mugged my best model pout, and she laughed.  
  


The door opened, and Elrond entered, carrying a pot of coffee. He mocked a formal bow, almost spilling the steaming liquid on the carpet. "Milady's coffee."  
  


She waved it away. "No, I drank all your miruvor. I'm fine now."  
  


Elrond laid the pot on the table, and dropped into one of the chairs. "Haldir's going to be heartbroken if he sees the full pot. He had to go all the way down to Accounting to get it. He said Celebrian made it especially for you."  
  


Galadriel turned towards me. "My daughter handles most of the investments and returns. Thank the Valar one of us has a head for numbers."  
  


I nodded, remembering Elrond's wife, a golden-haired woman with a sweet, tremulous smile. I shifted in my seat, eager to get down to business. I had to admit, my natural curiosity was driving me mad.  
  


Elrond, perceptive elf that he was, noticed my impatience. "But I suppose you realize that we didn't bring you here to make small talk and drink coffee."  
  


I smiled wryly. "No, somehow I doubted that. Please, tell me what the hell's what's going on."  
  


Galadriel's face had grown grim. "For some time now, we've been receiving intelligence reports about magical power spikes, mostly in and around the New York metropolis."  
  


"Not really surprising," I shrugged. "New York's a known sinkhole for magical energies, both light and dark."  
  


Elrond leaned forward and steepled his fingers. "True, but a power of a different sort. Very dark and all too familiar."  
  


I suddenly felt cold. "Familiar?"  
  


"Something we haven't experienced in thirty millennia, Legolas. The rise of a Dark Lord."


	9. Too Late

Author's Note: 

Hi , it's us again.... We don't mean to intrude upon your torturous journey through the twisted products of our combined ideas, but we felt that it was necessary to put in this note before we set you adrift again. All the elvish dialogue in the ensuing chapters is shown in double quotation marks. This means that if you come across a sentence that goes something like this: ""Aye". blah blah..." it does not mean that we've made a typo. The first word of the sentence is written in elvish, and the rest of it is in english. Many thank for your patience with our on-going computer illiteracy 

The Nightrunners  
  


Too Late  
  


Soundtrack: The Prophecy (Cate Blanchett)  
  


The Seer speaks...  
  


Yénillor morne

tulinte I quettar

tercáno nuruva  
  


Hlasta! Qyetes

Hfirimain:  
  


The Ringspell...  
  


(The Seer speaks...  
  


Out of the Black Years

come the words

the Herald of Death  
  


Listen- it speaks to 

those who were not born to die  
  


The Ringspell...)   
  


Shit. That was all that occurred to me. Shit shit shit.  
  


I leaned forward and rested my head in my hands. "No." I said, my voice somewhat muffled. "Please tell me this is all a joke that you decided to play on Legolas and all his nasty Mirkwood relations because they never write, call, or visit."  
  


Galadriel shook her head, her beautiful face troubled. "Would that it were, my dear princeling. Unfortunately, we have too much proof. Observe."  
  


Picking up a small remote, she pressed a button. Wooden panels on the wall slid aside, revealing a large datascreen. She clicked another button, and the lights dimmed.  
  


I watched as images began to flash across the screen, news shots of crime scenes, for the most parts. I counted nine in all, each one marked in the same way: a ring of blood. Each was followed by a shot of a smiling woman.  
  


"What the papers have dubbed "the Subway Kidnappings". Nine women, seemingly unrelated, all vanishing within the last two months, each crime scene marked with a ring of blood."  
  


The screen paused on one particular woman, this one posing with a little girl barely more than eight, a blond-haired, blue-eyed scrap of a kid. The mother and daughter were flashing smiles, and laughing at some unseen photographer.  
  


Elrond nodded at the screen. "This is Marlene Law and her daughter, Trisha. They both vanished from the Bronx one week ago. No leads. However-" he paused for a moment, "There was a deviation from the pattern. Two victims, one blood ring."  
  


"What's the significance?" I asked. "It's New York. People vanish and are murdered every day. How do you know it's not just some new cult?"  
  


Galadriel bowed her head. "Because we saw what the cops missed. We understood what they could not." She hit another button on the remote. "Freeze image, magnify two hundred percent."  
  


One corner of the crime scene grew to fill the entire screen.  
  


"Again."  
  


The ground expanded, details sharpening. Inside the ring, blood spatters were thrown into sharp relief. Blood spatters?  
  


"Oh gods." I felt my mouth go dry. ""Minya ". One."  
  


The next image focused inside the ring. Meaningless spatters had resolved into Elvish characters. ""Atta". Two."  
  


"He's leaving messages, don't you see?"  
  


Once more. ""Nelde" Three."  
  


""Kanta". Four."  
  


""Lempe". Five."  
  


""Enque". Six."  
  


""Otso". Seven."  
  


""Tolto". Eight."  
  


And lastly, the crime scene for the missing woman and her little girl. A bloodstain to anyone else, a jumble of Elvish words to anyone who understood them. A horrifying message.   
  


""Nerte. Na telwa"."  
  


"Nine." I whispered, turning away from the gruesome message that filled the screen.  
  


"Too late." it read.   
  


"Too late."   
  


"The nine have risen." Galadriel's voice was soft, but somehow seemed to fill the entire room.   
  


"The Dark Lord has returned, and has gathered new followers. He has found the Nazgul once more. He will twist those women to his will, and they are doomed to darkness forever." Elrond's voice was filled with the most profound sadness.  
  


"There must be something we can do!" I cried, desperate.  
  


Galadriel looked at me once more, and for the first time, a hint of a smile crossed her face. "There is something we can do."  
  


Her last words filled me with a deep feeling of gratitude (but also a vague feeling of dread):  
  


"The Company has remained true, Legolas Greenleaf." 


	10. Explanations

(A/N): Ooo...look how nice we decided to be. Another chapter for everyone to enjoy. "Queen Beruthiel's cat" has been put in here as a tribute to Lady Alyssa and Random Dent, the authors of Bagenders, who have FINALLY updated....much tossing of confetti and cymbal clashing can be heard from residence of Rhiminee. By the way, this is also a hint to anyone who doesn't know what we're talking about to go read the story. 

Enjoy,

The Nightrunners

  
  


Explanations

  
  


Soundtrack: When You Believe ( The Prince of Egypt / Mariah Carey)

  
  


Many nights we've prayed  
With no proof anyone   
could hear  
In our hearts a hopeful song  
We barely understood  
Now we are not afraid  
Although we know there's much to fear  
We were moving mountains  
Long before we knew we could  
There can be miracles   
When you believe  
Though hope is frail   
It's hard to kill   
Who knows what miracles   
You can achieve  
When you believe  
Somehow you will   
You will when you believe

  
  


In this time of fear  
When prayer so often   
proved in vain  
Hope seemed like the   
summer birds  
Too swiftly flown away  
Yet now I'm standing here  
With heart so full   
I can't explain  
Seeking faith and   
speaking words  
I never thought I'd say

  
  


There can be miracles   
When you believe  
Though hope is frail   
It's hard to kill  
Who knows what miracles   
You can achieve  
When you believe  
Somehow you will   
You will when you believe……  


"What do you mean?" I asked, my curiosity rising once more. I hated it when Galadriel was cryptic.

  
  


She didn't answer me. Rather, she hit another button on the remote, and the grisly crime scenes vanished. A series of photographs replaced it, one obviously from a police file, others that seemed totally candid. The unseen camera zoomed closer, capturing a man's face, the subject obviously unaware he was being photographed.

  
  


A youngish-looking man, with shaggy brown hair and narrow grey eyes, turning towards the camera as though he sensed something. The image froze, sharpening.

  
  


"Soooo..." I asked, my eyes fixed on the image. "Who's this?"

  
  


Galadriel switched the image, calling up some sort of profile. "This is Officer Adam Gordon, NYPD, Precinct 111, thirty-one years old, former resident of Paris, currently of Brooklyn."

  
  


Elrond had a rather odd expression on his face, one I couldn't immediately place. Fear? Longing?

  
  


Hope?

  
  


I looked back at the screen; tried to make a connection, but if there was one, it was too vague for me. Then something clicked in my brain. I started to laugh.

  
  


Galadriel gave me the *look*, the one she used to use if she didn't like whatever thoughts you were harboring in your twisted little mind. "Pray tell, what is funny?"

  
  


"I know this cop. He's the poor guy who watched me resurrect myself after the car hit me in Necropolis. He tried to do CPR. I think he got a bit of a shock."

  
  


"How bad was it?"

  
  


"Nasty. Lots of blood, broken neck, and distinct lack of pulse. Hurt like hell."

  
  


Galadriel shook her head. "Not you, the cop. How badly did you scare him?"

  
  


I still didn't understand what she was talking about. "Nothing that a few hours of intense rationalizations wouldn't take care of. I'm sure he could convince himself he'd been hallucinating, or he'd made a false diagnosis." 

  
  


Galadriel looked encouraged. "Good. That's excellent. Then there is a chance that his mind won't shut down when he learns the truth."

  
  


I leaned back in my seat and sighed. "Once more, for the ignorant people?"

  
  
  
  


Elrond sighed, as though he wasn't really looking forward to this conversation. "Through means and motive that we do not entirely comprehend, Adam Gordon is the reincarnation of Aragorn, son of Arathorn, who ruled the kingdom of Gondor during the Fourth Age of Middle Earth."

  
  


I desperately wanted to answer him, but I couldn't quite make my brain form words. 

  
  


Elrond forged ahead. "In order to balance the powers of Light and Darkness, there have always been the Nine. Those who serve the Dark Lord, and those who would rise against them."

  
  


"Wait." I begged, holding up my hand. "The Nine? Do you mean..."

  
  


Galadriel nodded. "With the rise of the Dark Lord and his servants, the balance must be restored. The Nine Walkers have returned."

  
  


"Like Queen Beruthiel's cat." I supplied helpfully.

  
  


Galadriel leveled me with a glare. "No. Not like Queen Beruthiel's cat."

  
  


Elrond interceded before I said stupid. "At any rate, we need the Fellowship of old to combat the threat posed by the Dark Lord and his minions. Guess what *you* get to do?"

  
  


I looked at the screen, the grey-eyed officer glaring back at me. Somehow, dragging the personality of a long-dead King of Men from this cynical, thirty-something cop filled me with a vague sense of dread. This guy wasn't the man I'd once known, the King for whom I'd have gladly sacrificed myself. I had a feeling this cop would rather put me through a wall before he'd accept that he was a reincarnated hero who was expected to, once again, save the world.

  
  


Can't imagine why.

  
  


Suddenly, the rational center of my mind took to the wind. What the hell? I missed my friends; they'd been dead and gone for far too long. Memories like that don't just fade away. I'd be willing to do *anything* Galadriel and Elrond asked, even if it meant going on another godawful *quest*, if it meant I could have them back.

  
  


"Is that why I'm here?" I asked, glancing once more at the screen. "You need me to reassemble the Fellowship."

  
  


"Yes." said Galadriel. "You are, quite literally, the only person the others would listen to."

  
  
  
  


My eyes narrowed. "Wait a minute. How do you know all this?"

  
  


Galadriel inclined her head towards the door behind the palm tree. "I still have my mirror, you know. After practicing for thirty-thousand years, you get *really* good at interpretation."

  
  


"Oh. So how do you know they'll listen to me? I have no desire to spend the next few years in a room with bars on the window and no handle on the door."

  
  


"Well..." Elrond looked uncomfortable. "We're not exactly sure. In all likelihood, the memories are there, just submerged. They should remember with a bit of prodding."

  
  


"What if they don't?"

  
  


"Then you improvise."

  
  


This did not boost my confidence whatsoever.

  
  


But to Elrond and Galadriel, the conversation was apparently over. They rose, and having no choice, I stood as well. "We'll have Glorfindel and Haldir brief you on all the information we've collected on the reincarnated Fellowship members." said Galadriel, leading me towards the door. "Then, the twins can give you a ride back to New York so you can get started on finding them." 

  
  


"Once you've found and convinced the people in the bios, we'll be in touch." He paused, and looked me in the eye. "Be on your guard, Legolas. The darkness is rising."

  
  


"I will," I nodded, with the calm air of someone who *knows* he's already in over his head.

  
  


Elrond opened the door to let me out, then paused as a thought seemed to strike him. "Was it you?" he asked seriously.

  
  


"Pardon?"

  
  


"Did you tell Tolkien?"

  
  


Oh. Oh. "No, I didn't. But I liked the books. Quite flattering, really." 

  
  


Galadriel sighed. "I've lost the pool, then. I bet it was you."

  
  


I laughed. "You know, I always did wonder who sat down and told Tolkien the entire story. Bet they were drunk."

  
  


"Probably. Good luck, Legolas."

  
  


I walked out into the hall, but as I rounded the corner, a touch of mischief made me call back over my shoulder: "Ai! Ai, a Balrog is come!" I used my best doom-and-despair voice, then took off running down the hall. What can I say? I loved that line. Don't quite remember saying it, but who cares? Made for good atmosphere.

  
  


Behind me, I heard Elrond laughing.

  
  


**********

  
  


I found Glorfindel hunched by the elevator, hyperventilating. His carved Elven dagger was embedded in the wall, clear up to the hilt. Haldir was standing beside him, patting him worriedly on the shoulder. He gave me a pointed look.

  
  


"Oops." I said, somewhat sheepishly.

  
  


"That...wasn't...nice." Glorfindel gasped.

  
  


"Sorry." I'd forgotten that the golden-haired Eldar wasn't overly fond of Balrogs. Quite a natural reaction, given the circumstances.

  
  


I grasped the hilt of his knife and pulled it out of the woodwork. "This is yours, I take it."

  
  


Glorfindel snatched the blade from my hand and brandished it threateningly. It might have been scary, but for the grin on his face.

  
  


A new voice called from down the corridor. "Hey! Brutus! You can't kill Caesar yet, we haven't had our revenge on him!"

  
  


I turned, and was suddenly engulfed in a double embrace. Elladan and Elrohir, the twin sons of Elrond. More old friends.

  
  


Elrohir hooked his arm around my neck playfully. "How dare you go and vanish for a few hundred years? You didn't even call!"

  
  


Elladan joined in, flipping his long, dark hair over his shoulders. "Poor Da's been absolutely heartbroken. You should've seen him and Galadriel, sending out the intel' mission, looking for you-"

  
  


"Wondering where the hell you are, wondering if you're ever going to surface and drag your sorry ass back here-"

  
  
  
  


"Must be a blonde thing. You never see such wandering behaviour in the Noldorians-"

  
  


"Most unnatural."

  
  


"Quite."

  
  


"Okay, okay!" I laughed, shrugging Elrohir off. "I'm sorry I was gone so long. Oh, and you'd better watch the blond comments, Haldir and Glorfindel over there might take offense."

  
  


"I don't listen to them," Haldir said smugly. "Everyone knows they're just jealous."

  
  


"Hey!"

  
  


"We resent that, you peroxide bimbo!"

  
  


Glorfindel stepped in. "Play nice, kids," he said, catching hold of my arm. "Legolas, we've got some personal profiles to brief you on. The twins will fly you back to New York later."

  
  


"By the Valar, in a helicopter piloted by those two. Maybe I'll walk."

  
  


Haldir grinned. "Come on, we've got work to do. If you're a good little princeling, maybe Glorfindel and I will come back to the city to keep you company." 

  
  


I rolled my eyes. "Great. I'm doomed." 

  
  



	11. Dreamer, Teacher, Soldier, Spy

Author's Note: We apologize for the extremely large plot caravan that runs rampant throughout this chapter. Please deal with it, as otherwise you'll probably miss out on a lot of the background information that will be important later. Much thanks to Erin and Ana, our wonderful betas without whom, the plot caravans would most certainly drive off the twisted highways of our warped minds. By the way, everyone say thank you, as we are going to post two ,count them *TWO* chapters today.

Ciao,

The Nightrunners   
  


Dreamer, Teacher, Soldier, Spy  
  


Soundtrack: The Stone (Dave Matthews Band)  
  


I've this creeping  
Suspicion that things here are not as they seem  
Reassure me  
Why do I feel as if I'm in too deep?  
Now I've been praying  
For some way to show them  
I'm not what they see  
Yes, I have done wrong  
But what I did I thought needed be done  
I swear  
  
Unholy day  
If I leave now I might get away  
Oh, but this weighs on me  
As heavy as stone and as blue as I go  
I was just wondering if you'd come along  
To hold up my head when my head won't hold on  
I'll do the same if the same's what you want  
But if not I'll go  
I will go alone  
I'm a long way  
From that fool's mistake  
And now forever pay  
No, run  
I will run and I'll be ok  
I was just wondering if you'd come along  
To hold up my head when my head won't hold on  
I'll do the same if the same's what you want  
But if not I'll go  
I will go alone  
I go a long way  
To bury the past for I don't want to pay  
Oh, how I wish this  
To turn back the clock and do over again  
I was just wondering if you'd come along  
To hold up my head when my head won't hold on  
I'll do the same if the same's what you want  
But if not I'll go  
I will go alone  
  
I need so  
To stay in your arms, see you smile, hold you close  
And it weighs on me  
As heavy as stone and a bone chilling cold  
I was just wondering if you'd come along  
Tell me you will.

"...and so, the high content of magnesium in the Tablelands of western Newfoundland makes them quite unique. During the next few weeks, in preparation for our trip to Gros Morne National Park, we'll be studying the Tablelands and other geographic points of importance in the area."  
  


"Golly sir, this trip to the middle of nowhere sounds like such fun!" The voice came from the back of the classroom amidst much snickering, but the teacher simply rolled his eyes and grinned.   
  


"Stop trying to suck up to me, you know it won't work."  
  


The mock-subdued voice of the student returned. "Sorry sir. You know we love you dearly."   
  


"Thank you. I love you all too, in a purely platonic, big-brother type way. Now if I might continue?"  
  


There were no further objections, so he went on. "Due to this high elemental concentration, plants are rarely found there and the rocks have highly preservative qualities."  
  


Professor Gabriel Gleason, currently of Princeton University, paused to take a breath, at which point, the bell rang. "Well, in that case, that's it for today. If anybody has any questions, I'll be in my office until four o'clock this afternoon. Don't forget that your term papers are due by next Friday, and no amount of whining, complaining, or outright bribery are going to make me change the due date this time."  
  


This final statement was met with groans from the assembled students, and Gabe smiled. "Come now, I doubt any of you are such cretins that you will bomb the paper entirely." His broad grin and cheerful voice showed that he was joking with, rather than mocking his students.  
  


Most of them chuckled as they filed out, amid shouts of "Thanks, sir!", "Great lecture!" and "Later, Professor!".  
  


He sat down, shaking his head. "Kids today," he laughed, despite the fact that at thirty-six years of age, he could hardly be old enough for such a statement. He readjusted his horn-rimmed glasses and attempted to gather the forgotten papers on the floor.  
  


Gabe was well aware that he could have easily afforded the surgery to correct his vision, or even paid a magic-user to charm his eyes. He was not afraid of surgery, but magic, on the other hand, he would not use. In his case, the simple charm might melt his eyeballs, or cause a host of unpleasant side effects that Gabe would rather not think about. Truth be told, he enjoyed the "intellectual" look his glasses gave him.  
  


He wasn't a vain man by any means, nor one who cared much about what others thought of him. He was, however, a full Professor of Geosciences at Princeton University, and that position demanded a certain, how to say it, style. Gabe was well aware that with his compact, muscular frame, short brown hair and goatee, he would not look out of place as a bouncer in a nightclub. Or a member of a motorcycle gang. Or a soldier.  
  


Gabe winced. No, he did not want to be seen as a soldier. Never again.  
  


During the war, he had been a "volunteer" with a top-secret government initiative. Their primary goal: to create a magic-resistant soldier, one who could fight the terrorist-employed mages and win. Just before the war, a secret call had gone out to a minuscule demographic of North America: the minority on whom magic had wild, unpredictable effects. And young Gabe, perhaps foolishly, perhaps heroically, had answered that call.  
  


He had known, even as a child, that he was different.  
  


At the tender age of seven, his best friend, a boy with magic potential, had attempted a simple hovering spell on Gabe. One of the easiest spells to master, the seven-year-old should have lifted several feet into the air, hovered momentarily, then gently floated back to the ground. Simple, really.  
  


Hardly. The supposedly-benign spell had snatched Gabe, hurled him into the air, and then had slammed him repeatedly against the ground until he had lost consciousness. His best friend, almost incoherent from shock, had found an adult to get Gabe to the hospital, where he awakened three days later with a compound fracture in his left arm, several broken ribs, a terrific concussion and lots of internal bleeding. The shaken boy had asked his white-faced parents why he hadn't been magically healed (standard procedure in any hospital that employed medical witches and wizards) and he'd been told that the medical spells had absolutely no effect on him.  
  


And so began Gabe's lifelong avoidance of magic. It was a brutal first lesson, as he spent four months recovering from his injuries. Later, he discovered that only spells, charms, and curses directed specifically at him had any effect. Magic in the general area wouldn't harm him at all. But if he were targeted, a spell might do nothing, might multiply itself a hundredfold, or backfire entirely.  
  


It was this unpredictable group of people that the had government sought. Gabriel Gleason had been a bright university student, finishing his Master's degree in geology. He had volunteered for the program, along with one hundred other young men and women with the same magical resistance.  
  


The program had been harsh. The soft-spoken young man from New Jersey had been transformed into a lethal soldier; not a mindless killing machine but a resourceful fighter, armed with youth and all the training imaginable. Even now, Gabe had nightmares about the torturous sessions he had undergone to become what he was. He still remembered it all: exercises in weaponry, several forms of hand-to-hand combat, basic infiltration, hell, he could even fly half a dozen different types of aircraft if pressed.  
  


The government had tampered with his genetic makeup, as well. Gabe wasn't exactly sure what they had done and didn't want to know, either. Ninety percent of spells, he'd been told, would either have no effect or would ricochet back on the caster. The unknown doctors had taken his innate magic resistance and somehow augmented it. The other ten percent of the spells...well, Gabe didn't want to think about what could happen if one got through.  
  


One hundred people had volunteered for the project. Twelve had made it all the way through. Gabe had been one of them. He knew that he had been one of North America's secret weapons during the five years of war. They had used witches and wizards, true, magic versus magic. But when you could use your enemy's own magic against him, well, that was an enormous advantage.  
  


Gabriel didn't like to think about that time in his life. He had survived it, that was enough, and he didn't have a damned clue if any of his eleven companions were alive.  
  


Now, he was doing what he had always loved, teaching, not of war and its horrors, but of rocks and the planet, which would always exist. The professor of geoscience looked up from his reverie, surprised, and glanced at his watch. Nearly an hour since the class had ended! He rose swiftly and hurried for the door.

Trying to forget a past that wouldn't leave him alone. 


	12. Brothers, In All Their Annoying Glory

Author's Note: Do not expect this often. Two chapter in one sitting tends to cause our brains to fuse. We will continue to post as soon as the fire trucks leave Eirual's house. We also need the little voices to stop talking to Sun Queen. Then we need the triceratops to stop goring Ivory Moon and Eirual needs to stop whimpering under the computer desk. Then maybe they'll let us out of the nice padded room with no doorknob, and we can write some more ;).  
  
Cheers

Brothers, in All Their Annoying Glory  
  


Soundtrack: It's All Been Done (Barenaked Ladies)  
  


I met you 

Before the fall of Rome 

And I begged you 

To let me take you home 

You were wrong 

I was right 

You said goodbye 

I said goodnight   
  


Woo hoo hoo 

It's all been done 

Woo hoo hoo 

It's all been done 

Woo hoo hoo 

It's all been done before   
  


I knew you 

Before the west was won 

And I heard you say 

The past was much more fun 

You go your way 

I''ll go mine 

But I'll see you next time   
  


Woo hoo hoo 

It's all been done 

Woo hoo hoo 

It's all been done 

Woo hoo hoo 

It's all been done before   
  


If I put my fingers here 

And if I say ""I love you, dear"" 

And if I play the same three chords 

Will you just yawn and say   
  


Woo hoo hoo 

It's all been done 

Woo hoo hoo 

It's all been done 

Woo hoo hoo 

It's all been done before   
  


Alone and bored 

On a thirtieth-century night. 

Will I see you 

On The Price Is Right? 

Will I cry? 

Will I smile? 

As you run 

Down the aisle.   
  


Woo hoo hoo 

It's all been done 

Woo hoo hoo 

It's all been done 

Woo hoo hoo 

It's all been done before  
  
  
  


Gabe entered his office, dropping his papers haphazardly on the desk. He had too much to do, and he felt that he would gladly hurl his entire schedule out the window, lock his office door behind him, and take off for the Arctic. Or maybe Aruba. It was warmer there.  
  


"I need a vacation," he muttered, reaching for a fallen term paper.  
  


"I'd say you do," a voice replied.  
  


Gabe froze in a half-crouch, arm still outstretched towards the paper. Instinct took over, and lessons learned fifteen years ago let him rise smoothly, all without taking his eyes from the stranger who had just spoken. He quickly scanned the individual leaning against the wall, a handsome young man with long blond hair and electric blue eyes. With a mage-killer tattoo on his neck. Gabe was surprised. This man didn't look a day over twenty-five, and had a rather slender physique besides. Clearly an individual with hidden talents, if the tattoo were genuine. He pushed past his drilled suspicion, reaching for his more natural affability, despite the fact that this unknown youth had somehow broken into his office in his absence. "I'm sorry, you don't look like one of my students. Do I know you?"  
  


The blond man smiled. "We were friends, long ago. I'm not surprised you don't remember me." He extended his right hand and Gabe shook it. His accent was faintly British, but this man evoked no memories.  
  


An uncharacteristic wariness rose in Gabe. Was this one of the many faces he had known and forgotten during the war? "I'm sorry," he said, keeping his voice pleasant, "but I didn't catch your name."  
  


The stranger now looked amused. "You can call me Leo," he replied.  
  


Alarms sounded in Gabe's head at this non-answer. He did his best to push them away. "So what might I do for you, Leo?"  
  


"Actually, Professor Gabriel Gleason, I represent a consortium, a fellowship if you will, and right now, we need your help."  
  


He appeared to be watching Gabe closely for a reaction, but all the university professor felt was confusion. "Excuse me, but is this supposed to mean something to me?"  
  


The man called Leo grimaced. "Apparently not," he sighed, and when he spoke again, it was barely audible, as if he were speaking to himself and had forgotten Gabe's presence. "Figures, he wouldn't remember without some prodding. All right then, we do this the hard way."  
  


Gabe was alarmed, and unconsciously dropped into a fighting stance. Leo looked him in the eye once more. "Let me ask you something," he said, looking quite serious. "I'm going to speak, and you're going to stand there and not say a word. More than that, you are going to listen to what I have to say. And when I'm finished, if you want me to leave, I'll go, and you'll never hear from me again.  
  


Gabe, wary of a trap, simply narrowed his eyes.  
  


Leo nodded, understanding his unspoken concerns. "You think I'm trying to con you. I swear to you," he said, arching is neck to display the glowing tattoo, "as a mage-killer, that there is nobody else within two hundred metres of us, presently. I also swear that I will not move from this spot as I speak."  
  


The university professor didn't drop his guard, but inwardly, he relaxed somewhat. He was pretty certain he could hold his own against this rather remarkable young man if they came to blows. But in fact, it was the oath of the mage-killer that tipped his decision. He nodded abruptly. "I will listen to what you have to say," he replied, "if only to honour a brother."  
  


Leo's eyes widened. "What? Do you remember me?" He shifted his weight as if to move towards the other man, but Gabe's confused expression stopped him.  
  


"I don't understand what you speak of that I should remember," he said, "I refer only to your mage-killer status." He rolled up one sleeve, revealing a glowing tattoo similar to Leo's, on his muscled forearm. "We share a bond, you and I."  
  


Understanding dawned on Leo's face. "Ah, a member of the brotherhood of mage-killers," he acknowledged. "One who has killed a magic-user and has been branded by their dying magical energy." He inclined his head in a salute. "Well met, brother."  
  


Gabe returned the nod. "If you will speak, do so, and I will listen. Farther than that," he smiled thinly, "I make no promises."   
  


**********  
  


I took a deep breath, watching the one who had once been my best friend. "Fair enough. You, Professor Gleason, are the reincarnation of Gimli, son of Gloin, one who lived approximately thirty thousand years ago, in the third and then the fourth age of Middle-Earth. During your lifetime, you swore loyalty to a halfling named Frodo Baggins, who carried a the One Ring of Power, a weapon that could subjugate all life in Middle-Earth. He was sent to destroy it in the fiery pits of a volcano known as the Cracks of Doom, deep in the black land of Mordor, realm of the enemy of our peoples, Sauron. He was the Dark Lord who had first forged the Ring, and he hunted Frodo in his efforts to retrieve it. You were a member of the Fellowship sworn to protect the Ringbearer, and you did your duty well.  
  


"Now, thirty thousand years later, Sauron, who we once thought defeated forever, has returned, when magic re-emerged into the world. To combat this new evil, the Fellowship of the Ring has been reincarnated, into new forms. The memories of Gimli -your memories- are still there, however. They may be buried deeply, but they are there."  
  


"You are there, Gimli, I know it. The friend I once had cannot be completely forgotten!"  
  


I finished my speech with this passionate plea, which I had practiced on the way to the University and thought quite moving.  
  


Gabe blinked, looked at me, blinked again, and I knew that deep within his mind, doors were opening and long forgotten memories were emerging.  
  


I knew it to be true.  
  


Or...maybe not.  
  


"Right. I think you should really leave my office now, okay?"  
  


"I don't think you understand." Shit. This was not good.  
  


"Oh, I understand fairly well. Which one of my students put you up to this? They've got weird senses of humour."  
  


"Nobody put me up to this-"  
  


"Yes, I'm sure they didn't. Who came up with that story anyways? Gimli, son of Gloin? Seriously, now. Why didn't you just say that I was Napoleon in a previous life, or hell, I don't know, Einstein? Wouldn't that have been easier?"  
  


"No, you've got to listen to me!"  
  


Gabe stepped back at the vehemence in my tone, and I was infuriated to see the look of pity that crossed his features. "Hey pal, look, I understand. The war was hard on everybody. Killing a mage, that takes a lot out of you. Now, there's a hospital just down the street with some great doctors who can help you out-"  
  


Great. He had decided that I was nuts. Oh, this was going so well. If I didn't get locked up by the well-meaning professor, I was going to kill Elrond for making me do this.  
  


Getting desperate, I began to play my trump cards, one by one. "Come on, Gimli, I know you're in there. Remember Rivendell, and how much you hated the elves at first? Being a member of the Fellowship, getting buried in the snow on Caradhras, getting lost in Moria!"  
  


He was looking more and more freaked out. Bloody hell. Right now, I probably did look the part of the babbling lunatic. Having no choice, I continued:  
  


"Remember the Riders of Rohan, and how you defended Galadriel? And how you were scared of horses? What about Helm's Deep, and the orc-slaying contest that you and I had? The battle at Mordor's Gates? The Glittering Caves? Travelling to the Undying Lands? We went together, you and I, can't you remember?"  
  
  
  


He shook his head, looking at me with such pity that I wanted to throttle him. Now I picked my targets carefully, hoping for a hit. If he did not remember, I didn't know what I would do. "Gandalf. Frodo. Sam. Merry. Pippin. Boromir. Aragorn. Anyone?"  
  


His face was set in firm resolve, and he walked over and gripped my arm. "All right. That's enough. I *really* think you should leave."  
  


Behind the words, I heard the unspoken threat. If I did not leave, he would throw me out. Stupid, arrogant, stubborn, annoying bastard!!  
  


He steered me towards the door, and the exclamation burst forth instinctually. "A PLAGUE ON DWARVES AND THEIR STIFF NECKS!"  
  


I couldn't see his face, but I felt him freeze. For several long moments, neither of us twitched. It was silent as a tomb in the office, so quiet that I could hear his heartbeat with my elvish ears.

And then, he replied, very quietly. "Well, Master Elf, you are the one who will not leave my office. Perhaps the cry should be 'A plague on elves and *their* stiff necks!'"  
  


Then he grabbed me around the shoulders and hugged me tightly.  
  


"It's been a long time, my friend," I whispered.  
  


"So it has." Gabe agreed, releasing me. "Would you mind telling me what the hell is going on?"  
  


"I will, I promise you." Digging through my pockets, I came up with one of Glorfindel's embossed business cards, my address scribbled on the back in neon green magic marker. Haldir had found this absolutely hilarious.  
  


I handed him the card. "I need you to meet me here. The rune deactivation key is written there too. Now, tell me, how quickly can you disappear?"  
  


His face settled into a contemplative frown. "Give me 'til midnight. I'll get a grad student to cover my classes. I'll give the dean some excuse. I'll be waiting outside your door with half a dozen suitcases before you get back."  
  


I rolled my eyes. "Great. Wonderful. Tell my landlady I said you could go in."  
  


"Trusting sort, is she?"  
  


"You wouldn't believe it."  
  


**************

The sun was beginning to set as I made my way across the winter-brown lawns of Princeton University. Turning down a raked gravel path, I almost tripped over a sitting figure.  
  


Haldir stood and stretched. "Hey, Legolas. You certainly took your time."  
  


"What are you doing here?" I asked, as he brushed dirt from his pants.  
  


"Glorfindel and the twins are waiting with the chopper." he said casually, leading me towards a thick stand of trees beyond the campus. "We came to give you lift."  
  


"Out of the goodness of your hearts, I'm sure." I commented dryly.  
  


"Well...no." He grinned. "Actually, we came in case Professor Gleason had you locked up and we had to spring you from the mental ward."  
  


"You're too kind."  
  


Haldir shrugged expansively. "Well, someone has to look out for you kid."


	13. Chopper OneOneOne

Author's Note: Our deepest apologies. We tried to upload this last night, but ff.net decided that it wasn't going to let us log in. Sorry about that. Hopefully we will have the next chapter up by Sunday. Keep in mind that we make no promises, as Sun Queen and Ivory Moon are both busy this weekend, and Eirual got bitten by a plot bunny at three thirty last night. Enjoy the chapter :).  
  
  
  


Chopper One-One-One  
  


Soundtrack: Superman (Five for Fighting)  
  


I can't stand to fly  
I'm not that naive  
I'm just out to find  
The better part of me 

I'm more than a bird……I'm more than a plane  
More than some pretty face beside a train  
It's not easy to be me 

Wish that I could cry  
Fall upon my knees  
Find a way to lie  
About a home I'll never see 

It may sound absurd……but don't be naive  
Even Heroes have the right to bleed  
I may be disturbed……but won't you concede  
Even Heroes have the right to dream  
It's not easy to be me 

Up, up and away……away from me  
It's all right……You can all sleep sound tonight  
I'm not crazy……or anything…… 

I can't stand to fly  
I'm not that naive  
Men weren't meant to ride  
With clouds between their knees 

I'm only a man in a silly red sheet  
Digging for kryptonite on this one way street  
Only a man in a funny red sheet  
Looking for special things inside of me 

It's not easy to be me.   
  


Despite its odd beginning, Adam's week had settled into some sort of normalcy. While he didn't forget about the mysterious blond, Saturday night had drifted to the back of Adam's mind. His curiosity had waned as several entirely rational explanations had taken root in his mind.  
  


Alice had called in sick earlier, so that had left Adam alone on chopper duty tonight. Truth be told, he didn't really mind; aerial patrol was rarely boring, and good ol' Harry was the pilot on duty this week .  
  


The helicopter pad was situated on the wide, flat roof of Precinct 111. As Adam approached the old Phantom-014 military chopper, a grinning face poked out the pilot's side. Harry Ronan was a weathered old veteran; he'd been decorated in the war over a decade ago, and was the best pilot in the NY force.   
  


"'Lo, Adam," he greeted cheerfully. Harry had lived in New York all his life, (as had his parents and grandparents), yet still managed to retain a heavy Australian accent. Adam sometimes wondered if he was faking it. "We gonna take this bird up t'night?""  
  


"Hey Harry." The young cop smiled, and swung himself up into the copilot's seat. As the chopper was a military model, it was designed for the low-altitude transportation of troops. Neither the cockpit nor the main body of the craft sported doors, only a smooth drop-off to open space. Adam had always found it somewhat disconcerting, but he quelled his fears and strapped himself in next to the indomitable old Australian.  
  


"Roight then!" The running lights snapped on as the huge engines roared to life, the overhead rotors slowly gathering speed. Adam closed his eyes as the *chop-chop* of the rotors grew in intensity, lifting them sluggishly off the launching pad.  
  


Once the craft was in flight, Adam relaxed visibly and opened his eyes. Harry was the best pilot in the business, and had been flying this circuit for almost ten years. There was really nothing to worry about. Still, the nagging, uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach refused to be quelled.  
  


"Alroight then," said Harry, casually adjusting his headset, and started recording the flight log with an ease that came only from long experience. "It is ten-fifty-one PM, and we are headed out over the Hudson Rivah at a speed of approximately one hundred and ten kilometres per how-ah, at a height of-" he checked his instrument panel, "two hundred and eight metres." He turned to grin at Adam. "Refreshments will now be sah-ved in the main cabin. For those of you in the co-pilot's seat, air-sickness bags can be found to your roight-"  
  


"Ha ha, Harry. Very funny, Harry. Now I know why they stuck you here flying this old chopper every night."  
  


Adam was distracted from Harry's reply; it came again, a flash of light on metal in his side mirror. He frowned, as the image resolved itself into another helicopter, a black one. "Harry, did we have an escort assigned with us tonight?"  
  


"Not to my knowledge, no- Sweet Jaysus!"   
  


An explosion rocked the chopper, throwing both occupants to the right. Adam gripped his restraints, gasping, realising he'd almost been pitched clear out of the cockpit. "They're firing at us!"  
  


"Not if I can help it!" Grim faced, Harry pulled himself back into his seat, yanking the control stick to the side. "They disahmed this bird when they put 'er into the police service. We're gonna hafta outfly 'em."  
  


Adam watched in slack-jawed amazement as Harry threw the old chopper into a steep dive. The altitude dial clicked towards zero, and they pulled up at the last instant, the helicopter's belly almost brushing the dark choppy water.  
  


Grabbing the radio mike, Adam watched as the black chopper gained on them again, even as the altitude ticked higher and higher. "This is the New York City Police Helicopter One-one-one. We are under attack." Adam felt shrapnel graze his cheek. He continued as calmly as he could. "Repeat, this is the NYPD 'chopper one-one-one. We are under attack by an unknown, hostile force--"  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	14. Attack

Authors' Note: Here you go people. As promised, another chapter from us. Unfortunately it's rather short, but we all have lives that we have to deal with as well. We'll try to post another couple of chapters in the upcoming week if we can. There is *NO* guaranty however. We do have one other thing to say, before we leave you to read this chapter. 

To The PenMaster. Congrads, you've just caused Eirual to have a fit on the floor.... there is no Aragolas in this story, and there never will be. *Aragorn/Arwen* is the only Aragorn pairing that you will find here. Not that any of us object to that pairing(except perhaps Sun Queen as she is a pervy elf fancier) but Eirual happens to be a die hard Aragorn and Arwen fan. Thems the breaks. However, there is Sam/Frodo in this(maybe not much but...)Hope that this isn't too much of a disappointment. Enjoy. :)

Attack  
  


Soundtrack: Adam's Song (Blink 182)  
  


I never thought I'd die alone

I laughed the loudest who'd have known?

I trace the cord back to the wall

No wonder it was never plugged in at all

I took my time, I hurried up

The choice was mine I didn't think enough

I'm too depressed to go on

You'll be sorry when I'm gone

I never conquered, rarely came

16 just held such better days

Days when I still felt alive

We couldn't wait to get outside

The world was wide, too late to try

The tour was over I'd survived

I couldn't wait till I got home

To pass the time in my room alone

I never thought I'd die alone

Another six months I'll be unknown

Give all my things to all my friends

You'll never set foot in my room again

You'll close it off, board it up

Remember the time that I spilled the cup

Of apple juice in the hall

Please tell mom this is not her fault

I never conquered, rarely came

But tomorrow holds such better days

Days when I can still feel alive

When I can't wait to get outside

The world is wide, the time goes by

The tour is over, I've survived

I can't wait till I get home

To pass the time in my room alone  
  
  
  


A screech of static burst from the mike, and Harry swore. "The bastards are jammin' us!" Another explosion, and the chopper yawed dangerously to starboard. Harry turned, and met Adam's eyes in desperation. "We're gonna have to-"  
  


The old Australian's last words were cut off by a hail of bullets that whistled through the cockpit. Adam felt a burning pain sting his shoulder, and he bit back a scream. The black chopper roared past, swooping around for another pass. Clutching his bleeding shoulder, Adam caught Harry's hair and yanked his bobbing head upright.  
  


The brave old soldier's face was frozen in a final expression of surprise. He'd taken a bullet right between the eyes.  
  


Adam did scream then, a scream of pain and rage for the old man's death. Worse, a final explosion, and the chopper had pitched into a steep, fatal nosedive. Adam grabbed the stick and yanked upward, but the controls were dead. There was only one thing left to do. With a final, sorrowful curse over his friend's body, Adam tore off his restraints and leapt from the cockpit.  
  


The wrecked NYPD chopper bloomed into a spectacular fireball.  
  


Adam hit the black water very, very hard.  
  


**********  
  


The enemy helicopter circled the burning wreckage. Before long, its own weight and the river's current would drag the chopper under, but for now, it wallowed like the corpse of some twisted metal beast.  
  


The enemy circled, searching for any sign of life. Satisfied, it flew off into the night like a contented vulture.  
  


**********  
  


It was blacker than the deepest midnight, and Adam searched his fuzzy brain for some reason, some sense of order.  
  


Of course. He was dead. That would explain the icy needles of pain in his body, the burning in his lungs-  
  


Adam's eyes snapped open as realization flooded through him. Underwater! He was underwater, and he couldn't breathe!  
  


His limbs felt like iron posts, but he began to struggle towards the surface, towards the life-giving oxygen. But his strength was failing, and it was so easy to relax, give in to the darkness...and he almost did.  
  


*No!!* screamed some instinct deep in his brain. *Fight this!! LIVE!*  
  


And Adam began to fight once more, every drop of anger fueling his strength. He thought of Alice, beautiful Alice, the woman he loved. //I'm not going to die without seeing you again.// The rush that this thought induced was enough bully his frozen limbs into cooperating again.  
  


He broke the surface, gasping, every muscle in his body screaming in agony. The air burned his lungs, but he didn't care, inhaling great gulps of oxygen. The burning hulk of the chopper had settled on the surface, casting an eerie orange glow over the water.  
  


Adam grabbed a piece of floating debris, his breath coming in harsh gasps. His entire body felt both burned and frozen from the impact with the cold water, and his right shoulder felt as though someone had skewered it with a spike of burning metal. Oh, wait, someone had. Hadn't he been shot?  
  


Adam tried to stay focussed. Some cool, clinical part of his brain pointed out he was going into shock, and that this was a very bad thing. He could only hope rescuers would show up before he slipped under the surface again. Adam knew, if he went down once more, the icy blackness would keep him forever.  
  


Was that noise a roar overhead, or was it his own heartbeat in his ears? No, it was another helicopter. This one was silvery grey, with a spotlight as bright as the sun. Wake from the rotors churned the water around him, and Adam tried to wave, tried to signal the rescuers, but he could barely lift his head. The chopper's belly was almost brushing the water, when a pair of hands caught him under the arms and pulled him inside.


	15. Healing Hands

Authors' Note: Next chapter should be up by Thursday/Friday. Sorry this one is so short. The next one is going to be longer, so please don't stress out. :)

  
  


Healing Hands  
  


Soundtrack: Crash and Burn (Savage Garden)  
  


When you feel all alone  
And the world has turned it's back on you  
Give me a moment please to tame your wild wild heart  
I know you feel like the walls are closing in on you  
It's hard to find relieve and people can be so cold  
When darkness is upon your door and you feel like you can't take anymore  
  
Let me be the one you call  
If you jump I'll break your fall  
Lift you up and fly away with you into the night  
If you need to fall apart  
I can mend a broken heart  
If you need to crash then crash and burn  
You're not alone  
  
When you feel all alone  
And a loyal friend is hard to find  
You're caught in a one way street  
With the monsters in your head  
When hopes and dreams are far away and  
You feel like you can't face they day  
  
Let me be the one you call  
If you jump I'll break your fall  
Lift you up and fly away with you into the night  
If you need to fall apart  
I can mend a broken heart  
If you need to crash then crash and burn  
You're not alone  
  
Because there has always been heartache and pain  
And when it's over you'll breathe again  
You'll breath again  
  
When you feel all alone  
And the world has turned its back on you  
Give me a moment please  
To tame your wild wild heart  
  
Let me be the one you call  
If you jump I'll break your fall  
Lift you up and fly away with you into the night  
If you need to fall apart  
I can mend a broken heart  
If you need to crash then crash and burn  
You're not alone  
  
  
  


A door slammed shut, and Adam felt his stomach plummet as the chopper rose into the air. He wanted to open his eyes, but not matter how hard his mind willed it, his body refused to obey.   
  


Gentle, practised hands roamed over his body, pinpointing areas that hurt the worst. Adam gritted his teeth as they probed his shoulder, and the bullet that was still lodged there.  
  


A voice murmured in his ear, soothing, somewhat British and vaguely familiar. "Adam Gordon. Relax. Don't fight us, we're here to help you." A hand, gentle as the voice, touched his cheek.   
  


The voice was comforting, and Adam doubted he had strength to fight, anyway. Hands stripped away his soaked uniform jacket and shirt, and covered him with a warm blanket. All the while, the voice whispered near his ear, soothing words of comfort. His instinct said *trust.* So he did. When a needle slipped sedative into his arm, he didn't fight the blackness. He went willingly, although wondering if he'd ever wake up again.  
  


**********  
  


"Lacerations to the face and neck. Broken clavicle. Bruising to the abdominal area. Four broken ribs. And to top it all off, a bullet in the shoulder. Shit. Glorfindel!"  
  


A blond head poked out of the cockpit. "What is it?"  
  


I indicated the battered young cop lying prone on the floor and shrugged somewhat helplessly. "You're better at this than I am. Can you heal him?"  
  


Face troubled, Glorfindel slipped back to join me. "I can try. Elrond's the real healer, though, not me."  
  


The golden haired Eldar crouched beside me. "Is he sedated? Good. Talk to him. Keep him steady."  
  


I held my friend's hand tightly, and whispered in his ear as Glorfindel went to work.  
  



	16. Adam Gordon's Very Bad Day

Authors' Note: Ok...chapter 16. Hope you enjoy this people, as we are not posting again until next week. It's Thanksgiving weekend here in Canada, so hopefully we'll get a good chunk written then. Until then....*Review*

The Nightrunners

  
  
  
  
  
  


Adam Gordon's Very Bad Day  
  


Soundtrack: What You Are (Dave Matthews Band)

I walk into this room  
Oh, all eyes on me now  
But I do not know the people inside  
They look straight through me, these eyes  
Seeking more wisdom than I have to give away  
Realize, realize what you are...  
  
What you've become,  
Just as I have  
Are you and I so unalike?  
I don't hear you  
Just as I am  
Afraid if we dance we might die  
Mock the world  
Live safe, say why  
Don't you know if you live life  
Then you become what you are  
  
The seasons sparing  
We're all drifting away  
Away from you  
I pray for you now  
  
Hoping to God on high  
Is like clinging to straws  
While drowning, oh  
Realize, realize what you are...  
  
What you've become  
Just as I have  
Are you and I so unalike?  
I don't hear you  
Just as I am  
Afraid if we dance we might die  
Mock the world  
Live safe, say why  
Don't you know  
When you live life  
Then you become what you are  
  
What you are  
Is the beast in a lover's arms  
What you are  
Is the devil in the sweet, sweet kiss  
What you are  
Is missing a piece  
What you are  
Is a puzzle to me  
  
What you've become  
Just as I have  
Are you and I so unalike?  
I don't hear you  
Just as I am  
Afraid if we dance we might die  
What the world gives to you  
Don't you know  
When you give life  
Then you become what you are?  
  
Don't trust me  
Trust you...  
Up to you...  
Trust you...  
  
  


All in all, Adam decided, unconsciousness wasn't so bad. You didn't have to worry that your partner had seemed on the edge for weeks, that dead people you were trying to resuscitate were going to grin and walk away, or that enemy helicopters were going to blow you out of the sky. All you had to do was relax, and the nice blackness would take care of everything.  
  


Of course, they were trying to wake him up. Stupid bastards.  
  


"Adam Gordon. If you can hear me, I want you to open your eyes. Can you do that for me?"  
  


Grudgingly, Adam cracked one lid, assaulting his brain with light. Slamming it shut, he managed to clear his throat. "No."  
  


Someone prodded the side of his head. "Stop being so stubborn and open your eyes. You can't possibly be tired. You've been asleep for over twelve hours."  
  


"Fine." Adam groaned. "Just get rid of the light."  
  


The light swung obligingly out of his field of view, and the cop opened his eyes. He was, in fact, lying on his back on a cot in a uniformly boring room. His shoulder and ribs were bandaged, and he was dressed in a pair of baggy cotton scrubs which somehow matched the room. The place had the bland, antiseptic feeling of a hospital, but the loud bustle that would normally accompany such a place was absent. There was a low murmur of voices in the distance, but the room was empty except for himself and-  
  


"Shit!" Adam flew out of the bed, only to succeed in tangling his lower extremities in the bed sheets, landing himself in a an undignified heap on the floor. From this bug's eye view, his gaze followed a pair of legs clad in baggy black jeans, up towards a dark shirt, the blond hair, the green bandana, and the ever-present duster...  
  


Another pair of legs moved into the picture. "Now see what you've done," another voice tut-tutted. "I'm not really that good at this healing thing. Do you want him to have a relapse or something?"  
  


"My most sincere apologies. Officer Gordon, are you quite alright?"  
  


Adam's vocal cords seemed to have seized. He noted, with some annoyance, that this sort of thing had been happening a lot lately. At precisely the same instant, the rest of Adam's body caught up with his brain, delivering the stunning realization that he was in a rather small amount of pain considering he'd been drowned, shot, and nearly chopped into fish bait.  
  


A tall, angular man with shoulder-length blond hair was drawing him back to his feet, politely shoving him towards the bed with what was, nonetheless, complete finality. "Sit down, and do not move off that bed until I tell you that you may. You, Officer Gordon, very nearly died, and I'll be damned if you go and waste half a day's work on me."  
  


Adam's attention, however, was focussed on the other occupant of the room. Duster-Boy had perched himself on the end of the cot, staring at him with a look in his eyes that the cop couldn't quite identify. Curiosity?  
  


Hope?  
  


Tall-Guy swept towards the door, throwing a glare over his shoulder. It was only slightly lessened by the gleam in his eye. "If he moves, my friend, you have my permission to knock him out again. That was the neatest bit of healing I've ever pulled in my life, and if he messes it up and dies on me, I'll be very, very annoyed."  
  


The door clicked shut, leaving Adam alone in the room with the blond man he'd seen die. Had this been the faceless voice that had cut through the pain, the soothing words he had instinctively clung to?  
  


"So, how old are you, anyway?"  
  


"Excuse me?" Adam hadn't quite recovered from any of the night's shocks, so he wasn't ready to trust his ears yet.  
  


"I asked you how old you were."  
  


What the hell, answer the question; the day couldn't possibly get any weirder. "I'm thirty-one."  
  


"Huh. That's funny. I would have said you were younger. You look like you're twenty-five. But I bet you hear that all the time."  
  


For the life of him, Adam couldn't figure where this was going.  
  


"Now me, I'm thirty-three thousand, give or take a few centuries."  
  


Adam could only gape as the blond man continued, obviously unaware that he sounded like a complete lunatic.  
  


"Officer Gordon, I represent a consortium, a fellowship if you will, and right now, we need your help..."  
  


*********  
  


I have to credit him, he did sit and listen to the entire speech. It was a good speech. After all, I'd practised it in my head for the last twelve hours.  
  


Delivery finished, I sat back and waited for the expected results. They weren't long in coming.  
  
  
  


"You're kidding, right?"  
  


*Sigh.*  
  


"Yes." I said, in the vain hopes that my sarcasm would penetrate his thick skull. "This has all been an elaborate hoax which I cooked up in my spare time because I have absolutely no life whatsoever, and subjected you to because you had the misfortune of watching me resurrect myself after being hit by a car. Congratulations, Adam Gordon. This isn't all about *you*, you know."  
  


I really shouldn't have vented at the poor guy. It wasn't his fault; he'd been dead for thirty-thousand years, you couldn't exactly blame him for being reborn without the memories. But at this point, I was ready to kill Elrond. //Oh, it's all suppressed in theirsubconscious. They should remember with a little prodding.// A little prodding, my ass.  
  


In the meantime, I noticed the cop looked a bit freaked. Okay, a *lot* freaked. For a moment, I debated sedating him, and starting the entire conversation over again in a few hours. I decided to plow ahead.   
  


Not a very bright move, as it turned out, for Adam had used my momentary distraction to his advantage. Sneaky little bastard. As my head hit the wall hard enough to blow the world into primary colours, I reflected that, before this week, I hadn't experienced this much pain since the bloody Spanish Inquisition.  
  


Adam flew past me, one hand reaching for the doorknob. He hadn't quite made it, however, when it was thrown open in a manner that was as subtle as a bulldozer.  
  


Just as subtle as the twins, who both smacked into Adam, sending the lot of them tumbling to the floor. So much for the famed elven agility. Must be the Noldorian blood.  
  


When the dust cleared, Adam was sitting on Elladan's back, his arms pinned by the cop's knees. Any sense of victory he might have felt, however, was drastically lessened by the fact that Elrohir had him in an excellent headlock. His face was slowly turning an unhealthy shade of purple, and I was mildly worried. Not overly worried, mind you. My head still ached too much to waste much sympathy on anyone else.  
  


Oh, hell, I'd better intervene before someone did something stupid.

""Otorno"!" yelled Elrohir, sounding disgustingly cheery. 

At the same instant, Elladan, in a similar tone: "Get off, little brother! You're a bit heavier than when you were a kid!"

Too late.  
  


Elladan finally dislodged Adam, knocking him off in a manner that twisted his spine in a new and interesting way. The poor cop was wheezing, desperately trying to break Elrohir's hold, and the exuberant elf finally got the hint. He loosened his grip from a choke-hold to a bone-crushing hug.  
  


The door flew open, and in charged Glorfindel, followed closely by Haldir. I decided to stay on the floor, safely out of the line of fire.  
  


The blond Eldar grabbed the twins by the scruffs of their necks, one in each hand, hoisting them to their feet. Adopting a tone that had once sent hoards of orcs running for their collective lives, he let loose with a stream of elvish swear words that made even Haldir blush. Glorfindel then pitched them both out the door. I winced as I heard them thud off the opposite wall.  
  


I felt so very tired all of a sudden. "Glorfindel, Haldir, go. Let me try talking to him again."  
  


The other two elves slipped out. I could hear two contrite voices through the closed door- the twins. Apparently they'd trusted Elrond's belief that their little brother would remember them. Maybe I wouldn't kill the ex-Lord of Imladris. Maybe I'd just hurt him.  
  


Adam was crouched against the wall, looking like a traumatised puppy, and not at all like a lost King of Men. I sat down next to him.  
  


"Sorry about that." I said, as though I'd bumped him in the street rather than abruptly screwed up his life. I tugged my bandana off my head, picking at the knot and letting him stare at my ears for a while. Then, I stood and moved towards the table, picking up a syringe and filling it.  
  


I was surprised when he suddenly spoke. He looked me straight in the eyes, and said in a soft, controlled tone: "This has not been a good day."  
  


"I know, my friend." I agreed, sliding down the wall beside him again. "But you can't run forever."   
  


I picked up his arm, which was limp and unresisting, and offered welcoming oblivion to Aragorn, my lost friend.  
  


**********  
  


Adam woke abruptly to the sound of a car alarm in the street below him. He was lying on his bed, in his apartment, the ceiling fan beating a slow pulse overhead. His uniform jacket was draped over a nearby chair, spotlessly clean, as though it hadn't been soaked in blood and dumped in the Hudson River...  
  


He realized he'd been holding his breath, and exhaled hard. Just a dream. Just a dream, a horrible dream that he could tell Alice, and she'd laugh...  
  


But, a little voice began to sing in the back of his head, 'Liar, liar, don't lie toyourself...'  
  


He knew he couldn't fool himself. The people and their story had been insane, hell yeah, but it had definitely happened. Just like he'd been shot, and a short putt away from death, but now he felt...fine...  
  


Something slipped between his fingers, and he glanced down at the small card in his lap. An elegant, cream-coloured business card, one side covered with flowing black script that meant nothing to him. On the other side, however, a short message was scribbled in green ink.  
  


~*Sorry, we screwed up. Elessar, when you need to talk, here's where to find me. Legolas.*~   
  


Adam stared at the card for a few moments longer, then tucked it into his pocket. Then, he grabbed his uniform jacket and headed out the door; towards a world of perfectly ordinary mortals, in a city of perfectly ordinary light. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	17. How to Annoy Your Roommate Without Getti...

Authors' Note: Hello all. We forgot to mention something in the last chapter. Elladan and Elrohir address Adam as ""Otorno"" and we forgot to give you the translation. It means "Brother" in elvish. We will try not to forget to put the translations in next time. Enjoy yourselves.

The Nightrunners  
  


How to Annoy Your Roommate Without Getting Killed  
  


Soundtrack: Good Riddance (Green Day)  
  


Another turning point a fork stuck in the road

Time grabs you by the wrist directs you where to go

So make the best of this test and don't ask why

It's not a question but a lesson learned in time  
  


It's something unpredictable

But in the end is right

I hope you had the time of your life  
  


So take the photographs and still frames in your mind

Hang it on a shelf in good health and good time

Tattoos of memories and dead skin on trial

For what it's worth it was worth all the while  
  


It's something unpredictable

But in the end is right

I hope you had the time of your life  
  


It's something unpredictable

But in the end is right

I hope you had the time of your life  
  


It's something unpredictable

But in the end is right

I hope you had the time of your life  
  
  
  


Gabe glanced up in mild interest as Legolas entered the apartment. Though he'd only been there for a day, Gabe had firmly entrenched himself and several hockey bags worth of stuff in the formerly-tidy apartment.  
  


"Did you have a good day?" he inquired.  
  


"Not bad," Legolas answered.  
  


"What did you do?"  
  


"Dragged the Hudson River for a lost King of Men," came the dry reply.  
  


"There's more than one?"  
  


Legolas rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean."  
  


"Yeah. Do I want to know where you're digging up Aragorn?"  
  


"Not really."  
  


Gabe nodded agreeably. "Fair enough. I'll find out eventually. By the way, I ate all your food."  
  


Legolas groaned and hurried into the kitchen. Gabe heard the refrigerator door open, and then the slamming of several cupboards. "By the Valar, you weren't kidding when you said *all* my food! Stupid dwarf! I needed that."  
  


"What for?" Gabe was sprawled on the couch, looking decidedly unconcerned, as Legolas left the kitchen.  
  


"I'm going hobbit-hunting. I figure I'll need the food to lure them back to the apartment."  
  


The Princeton professor considered this for a moment. "Do you know where they are?"   
  


Legolas shrugged. "Elrond gave me a pretty good idea of where to look. I'll find them."  
  


"Do you want me to come with you?"  
  


"No." Legolas gestured towards the door. "You're going to buy more food."  
  


"I've got no money."  
  


Legolas grimaced comically. "Check in the sideboard, you dwarven bum. I think there's some in there."  
  


Gabe rose from the couch slowly, grumbling: "So much for the fabled hospitality of the elves."  
  


"I'd be a lot more hospitable if you weren't putting your dirty feet on my couch," Legolas grinned. "I've got to go change. Thanks to Elessar, I've got river water all over me. Stubborn bastard."  
  


Gabe glanced at him from the kitchen doorway. "I take it your conversation with Aragorn did not go well?"  
  


"No, it did not."  
  


Gabe snorted in a very dwarven manner. "Who wouldn't believe a pretty boy like you?"  
  


He ducked as Legolas scooped a book off the coffee table and threw it at him.

Chuckling, he watched it spin across the floor into the kitchen, banging to a halt against the fridge. "Careful, Master Elf. I no longer have a sound helmet of dwarven make to protect me."  
  


"No," Legolas retorted. "But you've still got a good thick head to protect the few brains you have."  
  


They grinned at each other, and Gimli went off in search of money, and Legolas in search of clean clothes.


	18. Dying Lands

Dying Lands

  
  


Soundtrack: I Will Remember You (Sarah McLaughlin)

  
  


I will remember you, 

will you remember me? 

don't let your life pass you by, 

weep not for the memories. 

  
  


Remember the good times 

that we had 

we let them slip away from us when things got bad 

clearly I first saw you smiling in the sun

I could feel your warmth upon me 

I wouldn't be alone. 

  
  


I will remember you 

will you remember me? 

don't let your life pass you by 

weep not for the memories. 

  
  


I'm so tired but I can't sleep 

standing on the edge of something much too deep 

it's funny how we feel so much but cannot say a word 

we are screaming inside but we can't be heard. 

  
  


I will remember you 

will you remember me? 

don't let your life pass you by 

weep not for the memories. 

  
  


I'm so afraid to love you but more afraid to lose 

clinging to a past that doesn't let me choose 

once there was a darkness deep and endless night 

you gave me everything you had oh you gave me light. 

  
  


And I will remember you 

will you remember me? 

don't let your life pass you by 

weep not for the memories. 

  
  


And I will remember you 

will you remember me? 

don't let life pass you by 

weep not for the memories 

weep not for the memories...

  
  
  
  


After a long shower, and a clean change of clothes, even my sensitive nose could no longer detect the sewage smell of the Hudson. I emerged from the bedroom to see Gabe sitting at the table, apparently lost in thought. He seemed a good deal graver than he'd been but an hour before.

  
  


I'd wandered Middle-Earth for years with Gimli son of Gloin. I remembered the legendary mood swings of the Dwarves. This was probably not good. I tried to tease him from his thoughts. "I see no food yet, my hard-headed friend."

  
  


Gabe glanced up at me, his eyes dark. "I've been thinking, Legolas," he began gravely. "Of a matter of importance. What happened to the Undying Lands?"

  
  


I couldn't suppress a pang of the old sadness when he spoke of the ancient place. The distant land where the elves should have been safe forever.

  
  


"The Undying Lands," I repeated, striving unsuccessfully to keep the bitterness from my voice. "What do you remember of that place, Gimli? You were there, as was I."

  
  


He didn't flinch at my tone. "Very little," he admitted. "I recall it as one does a dream, shadowed and half-forgotten. I remember that we went together, and I was happy. That it was a place of so much peace..." he trailed off. "But I do not remember what happened in the end."

  
  


"In the end?" By the Valar, this was more difficult than I'd expected. All the old memories could still hurt me, as if they were fresh and not millennia old. "You died, Gimli. Not even the Undying Lands, despite their name, can keep a mortal alive forever."

  
  


He opened his mouth to interrupt, but I plowed on. "Certainly, you lived far beyond the lifespan of a normal dwarf. But one day I looked, and you were gone...and I couldn't find you, my friend. You had faded away, and I didn't know where you had gone."

  
  


I closed my eyes, remembering my anguished scream when I had lost the one I considered a part of my family. I had screamed and screamed, and I knew that, somewhere, there was a canyon in my mind where that scream still echoed. 

  
  


A callused hand gripped mine tightly, and I opened my eyes to see Gimli gazing levelly at me. The grief I had momentarily felt receded, and I continued with my tale:

  
  


"Such is the fate of all, I suppose, to fade away to nothingness. Even the elves will one day be subject to this, the end of everything." I shrugged away the pessimistic thought. "The Undying lands simply disappeared, over time. The magic that protected our sanctuary weakened, and Men came and dwelt in our land, never suspecting the greatness that had once been there. And after that, there is little to say," I concluded. "Many elves go on, living in the shadows of the human world. Some, like Galadriel and Elrond, work actively to protect the human race from its own follies. Others, like me, are wanderers, taking nothing from the world and giving nothing back." I smiled humorlessly. "I am not much of a mighty elven prince anymore."

  
  


Gimli shook his head vehemently. "I do not believe that, Legolas."

  
  


"Why not?"

  
  


"If you weren't the noble elf I remember, you wouldn't care so damned much."

  
  


"What do you mean?"

  
  


"Durin's folk have disappeared from this world, and by your own word your kindred have let you go. But there is yet one dwarf who knows you well, and he sits here, speaking to you now, despite his odd raiment." At this, he gestured to his own very human face, grimacing, and I couldn't help but smile a bit. 

  
  


He continued, warming to his subject. "You voice your cynicism, but if you did not care of the fate of the world, I wouldn't be here. You wouldn't be seeking the members of an ancient Fellowship, and you certainly wouldn't let a bothersome dwarf in your home to eat all your food." 

  
  


I grinned, feeling more like myself again.

  
  


"Not to mention," he concluded grandly, "you wouldn't be wandering the slums of Necropolis looking for hobbits-reborn-as-humans, whom you'll most likely have to bribe just to get them here." 

  
  


I threw back my head and laughed. "You are much more eloquent now, my friend, than you were thirty thousand years ago. Humanity agrees with you."

  
  


He scowled at me. "No, I just have to teach huge classes of young people with fifteen second attention spans. I've got to be eloquent."

  
  


I shook my head, amused, and his scowl was replaced by his customary smile. We sat like this for some time, in companionable silence.

  
  


"I've got to go," I said finally, "I've hobbits to find." 

  
  


"What should I get to eat?" he asked.

  
  


I looked at him incredulously. "Food? They might be human now, but they were hobbits *once*, for Valar's sake. They'll probably eat anything. Just buy lots of it."

  
  


He shrugged, and headed for the door. I called to him, suddenly, and he stopped. "I missed you when you died," I blurted out, and immediately felt like an idiot. How stupid was that statement? My face felt hot, and I knew I was bright red.

To my surprise, he didn't laugh at me. "I know, my brother," he replied, voice uncharacteristically soft. 

  
  


Then he grinned. "Hey, I didn't know elves could blush! And I missed you too, even if I was dead."

  
  


I began to roll my eyes at this but he wasn't finished: "Besides, you say you miss me now, but just wait a couple of days. I snore. Loudly. How's that fine elvish hearing of yours? You won't be missing me then, no way, elf-boy."

  
  


Then he sauntered out of the apartment, and my laughter followed him down the stairs.


	19. The Addict's Lament

Authors' Note: Hi. As you may notice, there are no hobbits in this chapter. This is not our fault. We sent Legolas out to look for them, but he hasn't come back yet. Moron. In the meantime, here's a new chapter. The next one should be up by Thursday. Hopefully our moronic elf-boy will have come back by then. (Actually, we don't mean to be so mean to Legolas. It's not our fault the hobbits have gone to ground.)

The Nightrunners 

The Addict's Lament  
  


Soundtrack: Little Sister (Jewel)

Hey little sister

I heard you went to Mr. So and So, knocking on his door

again last night, said you needed it bad -

you know that ain't right

Cause you've come to me crying

trying to stop, you said it hurts so bad

But please don't let you

go back for more

My little sister is a Zombie in a body

with no soul a role she has learned to play

in a world today where nothing else matters

but it matters, we gotta start feeding our souls

Not our addictions or afflictions of pain

to avoid the same questions we must

ask ourselves to get any answers

We gotta start feeding our souls

have been lost to the millions with lots

who feed on addiction selling pills and what's hot

I wish I could save her from all their delusions

all the confusion

of a nation that starves for salvation

but clothing is the closest approximation

to God and He only knows that drugs

are all we know of love

Every day we starve while we eat white bread

and beer instead of a handshake or hug

We spill the pills and sweep them

under the rug

My little sister is a Zombie in a body

with no soul a role she has learned to play

in a world today where nothing else matters

but it matters, we gotta start feeding our souls

Hey little sister I heard you went to Mr. So and So's

Knocking on his door again last night

Said you needed more...  
  
  
  
  
  


Kara Stone's last thought before she took off was that she had been really lucky to have gotten some flying time tonight. The cops in Necropolis were really cracking down on the Flight addicts in the city, especially since there was such a high fatality rate from flight's reaction to magical talent. Kara knew that as a witch, if only a very minor one, she ran a huge risk every time she shot up. Not that she really cared. Life was not exactly considered a gift around Necropolis. Death offered a much greater chance for escape. Besides, the risks were half the fun in flying.   
  


No, that wasn't right. Kara didn't fly for fun, not completely, anyway. The whole point in flying was to get away from the constant, pervading despair. That was what made it so attractive to everyone who lived in and around Necropolis. Since magic was created by feelings, both positive and negative, escape was one of Kara's powerful allies. Escape from the horror and the devastation, but most of all from the relentless cycle in which humanity was the focal point. Even Kara, with her weak magical abilities, could sense her place in the cycle: fixed unendingly between light and dark, forever forced to battle the very emotions that allowed her to survive. One cylinder of flight was all it took to set her free from the pain inside and the uncertainty of life on the streets.  
  


Holding her breath, she allowed the drug to flow through her body. Flying was the most amazing experience. Taste, smell, touch, sound and sight; they all bled together, creating a bright picture of the world in her mind's eye. Gone were the dank and crumbling concrete buildings of Necropolis: instead they became a riot of colors, flavors, sounds...a beautiful blend of the senses. No one could ever call the fallen city livable after having seen it on flight. That was the reason most people became addicts. Having seen something so beautiful, and then having lost it, was unbearable to many. For another glimpse of the fairest and fallen, there was no limit to the price that most flight addicts would pay.   
  


For those who used magic, or even had the potential to control it, the appeal of flight was even stronger. Not only did the sight of the city become intoxicating, but the rush of power that the drug brought when it hit the system was almost overwhelming. The power to reshape the world was one thing that no magic user had. Humanity simply could not control the magic well enough to erase their own failings, at least not on a permanent basis. For a short time, however, a person on flight could possess just enough power to change the world. In their own heads at least, if nowhere else.  
  


This time, Kara thought hazily, there was something wrong. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but the auras that the drug allowed her to see were different; clouded, less brilliant than they had been before. The power the flight unleashed still crackled through her veins, but the reassuring feeling of omnipotence was gone. Kara suddenly felt that she was losing control over something that she had never known she possessed.   
  


Fire burned across her skin. The flight-induced Necropolis swirled and danced across her line of vision, revealing horrors she had never imagined: a desolate plain under a burning wheel of fire that hung in the sky. Flares of magic could be seen everywhere, under each flare stood a witch or wizard. These horrifying creatures seemed no longer human in any sense of the word. Kara somehow knew that in those last few moments, these suffering witches and wizards would look almost normal to the naked eye. But with the Flight still pumping through her body, she saw the truth, obscene though it was.   
  


This was a ruined race: twisted and tortured beyond redemption. These were magic-users that had turned to flight, Kara knew this instinctively. Doing so, they had cast aside the one quality that made them truly human: the power to make their own choices. The terrifying reality of this denial was clear. These lost souls were condemned to eternal agony. In relinquishing the balance they had created within themselves, the tortured flight addicts were torn apart by the very emotions and powers they had once sought to escape.  
  


She watched the twisting figures with horrified pity. So focused was she on these creatures, she did not see the magical flare until it was almost upon her. In a sickening moment of clarity, she realized that she was to share their fate. Pain lanced through Kara's body as she fought against the drug which sought to drag her down. In the silence of the night, no one could hear her scream of despair. This was the last cry cast forth from the point of light that had been Kara Stone, before her star fell into darkness forever.  
  


**********  
  


"I'm sorry Doctor, the medics just brought in another flight addict. But she was too far gone. I'm afraid we lost her..."  
  


"Very well. Log the time of death and send her to the morgue. Family has twenty-four hours to claim her, if she's got any family that is."  
  


This was the only comment from the doctor on duty at the flight clinic. Had anybody been watching her, they might have found her expression rather odd. She stared at the ravaged body of what had once been a human being. A human being who had once been called Kara, who had cast aside the power to make her own choices.  
  


The doctor smiled in triumph. "Excellent," she whispered.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  



	20. Aragorn and Arwen

Hello to everyone who is still reading this. 

  
  


Before we go on, we would like to give our eternal thanks to everyone who reviewed. This is not actually another a chapter but it is **VERY IMPORTANT**. Now, if you've already read the appendices in the back of the Lord of the Rings, you will probably already know what we are talking about, so you are dismissed. Go read the next chapter, shoo. For those of you still here, pay attention. We are turning this over to Eirual, and she will be giving a quiz at the end.

  
  


~ Eirual steps up to the mic and clears her throat~

  
  


Ok. For anyone who hasn't read the rest of the "Tale of Aragorn and Arwen" please pay attention. It has a *very* sad ending. Aragorn get married and are very happy together. All of Arwen's family leave for the Undying Lands, but that really doesn't seem to bother her very much, because she's with the love of her life. Now please remember that Aragorn and Arwen met and fell in love when he was forty nine. By the time the Quest of the Ring comes about, he's sixty one. They've been betrothed for about twelve years before they could finally get married. It may not have been a huge deal to the elf but it still must have been pretty bad. Elrond was very against Arwen binding herself to a mortal because he knew if she did, she would lose every thing before the end. That is eventually what happened. Aragorn lived to the ripe old age of 180 and then he *chose to die*.He had to die when he did so that Gondor did not weaken itself with a failing king. At this point Arwen left the White City. She returned to Lorien, where she wandered lost and forgotten until she died of a broken heart, forgotten by all of Middle Earth. She lies under the hill of Cerin Amroth, where she and Aragorn had first met. The flowers elanor and niphredil (golden star and silver star respectively) are dedicated to these lovers as they bloomed the thickest on the hill where they first met. After Arwen's death, they bloomed no more in Middle Earth, thus passed the last memories of the Lady Undomiel.

*Loud sniffs as Eirual blows her nose and attempts to save her running mascara*

  
  


There you go, hopefully this will explain much of the upcoming angst that is present in the story. Enjoy the show.

The Nightrunners


	21. What Have You Done ?

Authors' Note: Hurray, we found the hobbits. We solemnly promise that they will show up soon. Really. Have patience. In responds to a question we received, we thought we aught to make this clear. Using magic is not the same as using drugs. The magic is not like drugs. The drug of choice, "Flight", reacts badly with magic. By the way, if you haven't read the authors' note just before this, please go back and do so. It's really very important. Many thanks, once again. 

The Nightrunners  
  
  
  


What Have You Done?  
  


Soundtrack: Drops of Jupiter (Train)  
  


Now that she's back in the atmosphere  
With drops of Jupiter in her hair, hey, hey  
She acts like summer and walks like rain  
Reminds me that there's time to change, hey, hey  
Since the return from her stay on the moon  
She listens like spring and she talks like June, hey, hey   
  
Tell me did you sail across the sun  
Did you make it to the Milky Way to see the lights all faded  
And that heaven is overrated   
  
Tell me, did you fall for a shooting star  
One without a permanent scar  
And did you miss me while you were looking at yourself out there   
  
Now that she's back from that soul vacation  
Tracing her way through the constellation, hey, hey  
She checks out Mozart while she does tae-bo  
Reminds me that there's time to grow, hey, hey   
  
Now that she's back in the atmosphere  
I'm afraid that she might think of me as plain ol' Jane  
Told a story about a man who is too afraid to fly so he never did land   
  
Tell me did the wind sweep you off your feet  
Did you finally get the chance to dance along the light of day  
And head back to the Milky Way  
And tell me, did Venus blow your mind  
Was it everything you wanted to find  
And did you miss me while you were looking for yourself out there   
  
Can you imagine no love, pride, deep-fried chicken  
Your best friend always sticking up for you even when I know you're wrong  
Can you imagine no first dance, freeze dried romance five-hour phone conversation  
The best soy latte that you ever had . . . and me   
  
Tell me did the wind sweep you off your feet  
Did you finally get the chance to dance along the light of day  
And head back toward the Milky Way   
  
Tell me did you sail across the sun  
Did you make it to the Milky Way to see the lights all faded  
And that heaven is overrated   
  
Tell me, did you fall for a shooting star  
One without a permanent scar  
And did you miss me while you were looking at yourself out there   
  
  


Adam ended up in front of Alice's apartment building that night, his mind whirling. He had to talk to his partner; she was a sensible woman, and a witch besides. Alice understood magic a lot better than he did. Hell, she understood it better than anyone at the precinct, even the Seers. If she told him he was insane, he'd be the first to go get the straight jacket.  
  


Unfortunately, insanity was no longer such a straight-cut issue when magically-created monsters killed people in broad daylight, or when street-mages tore apart whole neighbourhoods in their frenzied battles. "If I'm insane, so is everybody else in the goddamn world." Adam pushed the building's front door; the lock was broken, and the landlord had never gotten around to fixing it.  
  


Alice's building was almost as bad as his own. Built before the war, the carpet was stringy, the paint was faded, and most of the burnt-out incandescents had never been replaced. It had two saving graces: it was cheap, and it wasn't in Necropolis.  
  


Alarm bells began to go off in Adam's head as he saw that the door to Alice's apartment was ajar. Even if you stood a greater chance of being killed by magic than a mugger, this was still New York, and Alice would never leave her door unlocked, let alone open. Adam drew his gun quietly and crept towards the door. He swung in silently, scanning for targets.  
  


There was nothing. The apartment looked undisturbed. "Starr? Starr, where are you?"  
  


An answering sob came from the tiny kitchenette. Gun leading the way, Adam ran into the kitchen.  
  


Alice was curled on the ancient linoleum, by the battered table, clad only in her uniform pants and a sweat-soaked tank top. One arm was wrapped around her midsection, the other covered her face; at Adam's approach, she lifted her hand and cried out weakly. Blood ran from her nose and her eyes were glazed and unfocused.  
  


Adam sniffed the air, recognized the acrid scent, and stared with horror at the little black inhaler lying near Alice's arm. "You're flying." he whispered, sinking to his knees next to the pathetic figure.  
  


She stirred again at his touch. "Gordon?" she asked, her voice shaky and indistinct. Tears ran from her eyes, but she seemed unable to check them.

Adam propped his partner against his chest, all thoughts of his own problems flown from his mind. "What the hell are you doing, Starr?" he demanded, trying to stem the flow of blood from her nose. "Witches can die on even a tiny bit of flight! You know that!"  
  


Suddenly, Alice surged out of his arms, swinging around to face him. Her eyes, glowing with bloody tears, seemed to look past him to a place far away.   
  


"You." she said, her voice a dead monotone.  
  


"Yes," Adam answered gently. "Adam, your partner."  
  


She flew at him, fists slamming against his chest and shoulders, furious gasps shaking her frame. But in her weakened state she did little damage, and she collapsed in his arms once more, sobs wracking her trim body.  
  


Adam held her gently, stroking her hair, trying to ignore how the heat of her body sent fire through his blood. He loved this woman, wanted her so much he'd forgotten what it was like *not* to want her; not wake up in the morning remembering her face in his dreams and wishing she was lying next to him. But he controlled himself. Alice was his goddamn partner, and lying on her kitchen floor, covered in blood, was really not the best time and place to confess those feelings.  
  


The sobs began to slow, and were replaced by shivers. Alice stared at him, her pupils shrinking to nothingness like when she was spellcasting. Still, she didn't seem to see him.  
  


"You." she whispered again.  
  


"Yes." Adam soothed her, holding her close to him and stroking her hair as though she was a child.  
  


"Damn you." she growled, her voice rising in power. Twisting away from him, she slowly rose to her feet. Adam likewise rose, and began to back away slowly. For some reason, the phrase //Hell hath no fury...//began to echo in his mind.  
  


"How dare you!" she screamed; her pupils had disappeared completely. Solid blue orbs stared at him, and electricity crackled through her every word. Alice was in full rage, augmented by the drugs and the magic, and suddenly Adam was very, very afraid.

Tears were once again streaming from her solid blue eyes, but she took no notice of them. "How dare you die? How dare you go and leave me alone! You had no right! I gave up everything for you! *You had no right*!!"  
  


There was a sharp crack, and Adam was thrown backwards against the wall. His head swam, and he saw Alice standing above him, magnificent in her fury, black hair streaming around her as though she stood in the middle of a gale. Oddly enough, the only thought in Adam's head was, "God, she's beautiful." Eyes wide, he waited for the final blow to fall.

It never came. With a buzz and a whine, the lights in the apartment flickered and died. The uncontrolled power flow had obviously blown out the circuit, judging by the screams, in this building, and the rest of the neighbourhood too.  
  


Moonlight shone through the window, illuminating Alice as she crumpled to the floor, face white, breath coming in short gasps. Adam crawled to her side, a sickening realization taking root in his brain.  
  


Alice Starr, the woman he loved, was going to die.


	22. Waiting for Salvation

Authors' Note : Hobbits next chapter. A Duster is a long coat-like thing. Rather like a trench coat. Kara is dead. She will not be seen again. Also, please leave a name when you review. Not just (). It will make it much easier to answer questions. Thanks  
  
  
  


Waiting for Salvation  
  


Soundtrack: Remember Me (Journey)  
  


Remember me... remember me...  
  


Find myself all alone in darkness without you

Now I can't turn away from what I must do

You know I'd give my life for you

More than words can say

I'll show you how to love someone

I know you'll find the way  
  


Say goodbye, close your eyes - remember me

Walk away, the song remains - remember me

I'll live on somewhere in your heart,

You must believe - remember me  
  


No way I can change my mind

I don't have the answers

If you could see through my eyes

You'd let go of your fears

And though I have to leave you now

We are part of each other

I'll miss your touch, you'll call my name

I am with you forever  
  


Say goodbye, close your eyes - remember me

Walk away, the song remains - remember me

Winds of change we can't expain - remember me

I'll live on somewhere in your heart

You must believe - remember me  
  


You know I'd give my life for you

More than words can say

I'll show you how to love someone

I know you'll find the way  
  


Say goodbye, close your eyes - remember me

Walk away, the song remains - remember me

We live to watch over you - remember me

Feel I'm gone, my heart lives on - remember me

Don't you think of me in the end

I'll come in through your dreams - remember me  
  


Close your eyes - remember me

Say goodbye - remember me

Say you will - say you will - say you will...

Close your eyes - remember me

Say you will - say you will - say you will...

Say goodbye - remember me...  
  
  
  
  
  


She was going to die.   
  


It was one of the hardest things that Adam had ever had to face. The woman he loved was going to die, and there was nothing, absolutely nothing, that he could do to save her. Adam would have moved Heaven and Earth for Alice if he could. She was dying however, and nothing could change the fact that her death was going to be at her own hands.  
  


Alice lay on the battered linoleum that lined the kitchen. Her long black hair trailed over the floor, matted by sweat and blood. Her blood. The moonlight illuminated her pale and clammy skin. Hectic fever spots had appeared on her cheeks and her dark eyes were sunken under bruised lids. As Adam leaned over her, he could see that they were cloudy and unfocused, her pupils still shrunk to mere pin pricks of black, lost amid the dark blue of her irises. Though she fought, it was apparent that the Flight's hold on her was still too strong to beat. Alice was still lost in a world of horrific nightmares of her own creation.   
  


The lights still weren't working in the apartment. What ever spell Alice had thrown at him had probably knocked the entire grid off line for a while. Support services were not noted for being extremely prompt in housing areas close to Necropolis.  
  


"Damn it Starr, why are you doing this to me?"   
  


Alice made no answer. If anything, she started to fade even faster, as her body began to absorb the backlash of the spell that she had cast moments before. Adam closed his eyes for one dizzying moment, almost afraid that when he opened them again, she would be gone forever.  
  


//Wouldn't you deserve it? You left her alone to die before. She gave up her world for you and that was how you repaid her.//  
  


"Estel...."  
  


Adam's eyes flew open, hearing Alice's voice, whisper soft.  
  


"Shhh. Lie still Starr, I'm going to call for some help, just hold on, okay?"  
  


Painfully, she turned her head at the sound of his voice. Adam experienced a moment of concern when she repeated the same strange word that had first caught his attention.   
  


"Estel..."

Her next words froze him to the spot before he could reach for his cellular phone.

Her voice, which previously hadn't risen above a whisper, had taken on a musical quality that had not been there before. Beautiful as it was, it was still thick with anger.  
  


"No. It's your turn to suffer now. Why should I even bother to try for you? You never even thought of what would happen to me when you left. Your precious dynasty mattered far more to you than I ever did. I gave everything up for you. The Valar know how I suffered for you. Now it's your turn. I hope you never see the light, Adam Gordon. My love. My life. May you be lost in darkness forever, Estel...."  
  


Adam blinked in confusion. Her strange words sparked feelings of helplessness and panic in him, that had no reason for being there. He had never asked Alice to give anything up for him! As for leaving her alone to die, Adam was quite sure that Alice had never been closer to death than this moment, and he was most certainly not planning on leaving her side. The strange thoughts and feelings were not the only things troubling him. Alice herself had sounded so ...familiar, despite her words, which he didn't understand. The anguish in her voice was staggering. She sounded as though she had lost someone. Lost someone so long ago that she could no longer remember them without cursing the day they had met. 

Alice started to cough then, and in the moon light, her lips turned dark with blood. Adam fought against his despair, as he slowly stroked her face and hair.  
  


She should be getting better //... the hands of the king are the hands of a healer, and thus shall he be known...//   
  


Adam paused once again in his appraisal of Alice's condition.  
  


//This is ridiculous,// he thought. //Alice is spouting nonsense, and I'm actually starting to *think* that I have the power to heal her with a touch? I'm starting to sound a odd as those guys who pulled me from the river.//  
  


It seemed obvious that the conversation he'd had with the pointy-eared freaks had thrown him for more of a loop than he would have believed.  
  


His head shot up suddenly. The men who had fished him out of the river, the crazy ones who called themselves *elves*...they'd spoken of healing powers, hadn't they? Hadn't they healed *him*? Frantically, he started to search through the pockets of his long-suffering uniform. He didn't trust those men at all, but the fact was that he had no choice. He'd be willing to suspend disbelief for as long as it took.  
  


With a small cry of triumph he pulled out a small square of cream-coloured paper. Written on the back in green marker were the directions to an apartment not more than a fifteen minute drive away.  
  


With silent thanks whatever god had prompted him to bring his car tonight, Adam gently picked Alice up from the floor and headed out into the night.


	23. Hobbit Hunting

Authors' Note: This chapter is dedicated to all those who dressed up as Tolkien characters for Halloween. Eirual made a amazing Arwen, and Sun Queen pulled off a great-looking Legolas. Ivy's cousin was a miniature Nazgul, too, and Ivy got to do her makeup. She looked so cute! Well, as cute as a small threatening Black Rider with a sword can look, anyway. We know that you Tolkien fans are out there and you took advantage of Halloween to try out our Middle Earth look. Also, Eirual wishes to apologize for the mistake she made in the Authors' Note about Aragorn and Arwen. He lived to be 210, and he was 87 during the War of the Ring. Many thanks to Kat Nicholls for pointing this out to us. Eirual is much ashamed of the fact that she made this mistake when she went to check over her calculations for that note. She anticipates being beaten by the other two Nightrunners for doing something stupid. 

As promised: the Hobbit chapter. You asked for it, we obliged. Enjoy the show. Happy Halloween!" 

Hobbit-Hunting  
  


Soundtrack: Life (Our Lady Peace)  
  


How many times have you been pushed around?

Is anybody there, does anybody care?

And how many times have your friends let you down?

Is anybody there, did anybody stare?  
  


And how many times have your friends let you down

Just open up your heart, just open up your mind

And how many times has your faith slipped away?

Well is anybody safe, does anybody pray?  
  


Oh life is waiting for you

It's all messed up but we're alive

Oh life is waiting for you

It's all messed up but we'll survive  
  


Doo, doo, doo..  
  


And how many days have you just slept away?

Is everybody high, is everyone afraid?

And how many times have you wished you were strong?

Have they ever seen your heart

Have they ever seen your pain?  
  


Oh life is waiting for you

It's all messed up but we're alive

Oh life is waiting for you

It's all messed up but we'll survive  
  


She gets high, she gets lost

She gets drown by the cost

Twice a day, every week

And all of her life  
  


She gets high, she gets lost

She gets drown by the cost

Twice a day, every week

And all of her life  
  


Life is waiting for you

It's all messed up but we're alive

Oh life is waiting for you

It's all messed up but we'll survive  
  


Oh life is waiting for you

It's all messed up but we're alive

Oh life is waiting for you oh

It's all messed but we're alive

It's all messed up but we'll survive

It's all messed up but we're alive

It's all messed but I will, I will survive..  
  
  
  


The Outer Limits turned out to be a nightclub in Necropolis, a ramshackle building that pulsed with light and sound. I could see why people would be drawn here, towards the warmth of gyrating dancers and the crush of people. Anything to beat back the cold darkness of the street.  
  


I glided past the bouncer, a huge bald man with more tattoos, it seemed, than skin. Following the flow of people, I drifted past the bar and into the club.  
  


The club was one large room, with a beat-up bar running along the wall by the door, and a small stage set in the centre of the dance floor. A band was jamming onstage, surrounded on all sides by gyrating dancers. Overhead, an ancient incandescent system shot darts of coloured light through the gloom. I sniffed the air and realized, from the acrid smell, that more than one person in this crowd was flying tonight.   
  


A crush of humanity engulfed me as I stepped onto the dance floor, some ignoring me, some turning slightly to size me up. I felt eyes all over me, some awe, some lust, and some less-than-friendly emotions. This was Necropolis, after all, and any weakness could get you killed, slowly and painfully. I began to dance, letting my black duster sweep back like a pair of wings, arcing my neck so the mage-killer tattoo glowed against my skin. The potential attackers suddenly decided they could find an easier mark elsewhere and drifted off. Then, I turned my attention towards the stage, and had to bite back a laugh. The Valar really did have a sense of humour.  
  


The Hobbits were tall.  
  


**********  
  


Felix collapsed against the wall in the dingy back room of the Outer Limits, sweat glistening in his spiky hair. He slid to floor, carefully setting his prized guitar off to one side, and rubbed his burning eyes. The stark light from the bare bulb overhead seemed to drill into his brain, and only served to increase his pounding headache.  
  


A warm body slid down next to his, and he leaned gratefully against Sam's muscled shoulder. "Good show tonight," the other young man whispered hoarsely, huddling up next to Felix.  
  


"Yeah, no animal sacrifices this time. Remember how long it took to get the goat blood out of Peter's drums?" Felix tried to keep his tone wry, but his shoulders slumped in despair. "God, I hate this place. I feel like I'm still a little kid, scared that the magic will get me."   
  


He felt a warm hand touch his cheek, and he turned and accepted Sam's kiss. This was everything that was hot and right and alive, and it kept the shadows at bay. For a while, at least. Felix snaked his arms around his lover's neck, and Sam pulled him closer-  
  


"Christ, get a room, you two." At the flip remark, Felix and Sam broke apart. Mark Brand, bass guitarist, best friend, and sarcastic wit extraordinaire; he had entered the room and started his post-gig griping. "Is there a beer left? I'm dying over here."   
  


"Yeah." said Sam, pointing to the little fridge under the barred window, Felix being occupied with nuzzling Sam's neck. Mark opened the door and poked his head inside. The light glowed weirdly off his sweat-streaked face.  
  


"Let's see...we have mouldy cheese, in both green *and* grey, the milk that Marie Antoinette planned to drink with her cake, and..." he trailed off in horror. "How long has that Chinese take-out *been* there?" He held up the flimsy paper carton dramatically. "Shit! It's *mutating*!"  
  


"Give it to me, I'll eat it," came a new voice. Peter Taylor bounced through the door, dropped his drumsticks with a clatter, then slid to the floor opposite Felix and Sam. He grinned suggestively at his friends, who were still engaged in some rather compromising activities. "You do realize that there are a half a dozen lovely young women who left the club disappointed tonight when I told them you two weren't coming back out."  
  


Felix good-naturedly lobbed an empty beer can at Peter's head, but the youngest band member ducked, and the missile hit the wall instead. "I'm sure you got enough phone numbers for the lot of us."  
  


Mark was still staring transfixed at the leftover Chinese. "That *cannot* be natural."  
  


"Will you shut up about the fucking Chinese food?" Sam cried, and launched himself at Mark's knees, bringing them both crashing to the floor. Peter, in spirited defence of his friend, retaliated by hurling the mostly empty carton of milk in Sam's face. He laughed, trying to maintain his grip on Mark's legs while wiping sour milk out of his eyes.

Meanwhile, Mark had squirmed across the floor towards the dropped Chinese food, and had grabbed a handful of soggy rice, with the intention of throwing it at Sam. Felix, however, intercepted his wrist in mid-throw, and the rice was redirected towards Peter, who was heroically trying to rescue the beer from the fridge before it was used as ammunition.   
  


Soon all four band mates were brawling, amid Peter's frantic battle cry of "Save the beer! Save the beer!" More of the offending takeout went flying into the fray. They were so engrossed in their miniature war, they didn't hear the door creak open.   
  


Finally, Felix found himself sprawled on the floor, breathless with laughter, Sam idly poking Mark with one of Peter's drumsticks, with a triumphant grin on his face. Peter had salvaged the beer, (it had fallen from the fridge during the fight), and he took a swig, pausing to pour some into Mark's open mouth.  
  


Mark's spluttered curses and Peter and Sam's laughter distracted Felix for a moment. He suddenly sensed a presence behind him and he scrambled to his feet, his friends leaping up behind him to face the stranger.  
  


A tall bloke with long blond hair stood framed in the doorway. He wore a black leather duster over dark clothes, and his hair was knotted back under a forest green bandana. His face was also splattered with chow mein noodles. Delicately, he reached up and brushed the ancient takeout away. Only then did he seem to notice the rockers. He raised one eyebrow and drawled, in a slight British accent, "I hope I'm not interrupting."   
  


All four glared at the stranger, though the unspoken threat was greatly diminished by the fact that they were covered in leftover Chinese food, and, in Mark's case, beer.  
  


The man looked at Felix and smiled slightly, as if they shared a secret unknown to the other three. With that glance, Felix's headache returned with a vengeance, but this time it was different. He knew this man! But how? He winced as a jumble of faces began careening through his head at high speeds.  
  


Sam, instinctively noticing the flash of pain crossing his lover's face, stepped protectively in front of him. "Is there something we can help you with?" he asked bluntly. He wasn't overly polite: manners were reserved for people that you were sure were not going to kill you.  
  


The blond man seemed to avoid the question. "I listened to you guys tonight. You're quite good."  
  


Mark narrowed his eyes. "Are you a talent scout?"  
  


"No, not exactly. But I liked your rendition of 'Stairway to Heaven'. As good as if not better than the original."  
  


Sam's eyes widened. "You recognized it?"  
  


"Yes. Old music is a hobby of mine."  
  


"Really now."  
  


"Yes."  
  


"Are you looking to hire us?"  
  


"In a manner of speaking, yes."  
  


The band members' threatening postures dissolved instantly. "In that case, let's talk business." Mark gestured him towards the tiny table in the corner. "I'm Mark Brand, that's Felix Baker, Sam Gardener, and that's Peter Taylor, over in the corner, the one with oyster sauce on his face." Peter hastily wiped the offending takeout away. "We charge six hundred a night, with free bar tabs, and if any crimes are committed in your establishment, we don't testify on either side."  
  


The stranger raised his eyebrows. "No, you misunderstand me. I have no interest in hiring your band. You have...other skills that I have a use for."  
  


Instantly, the suspicious expressions were back. "We don't *have* any other skills, my friend." Peter spoke as if the man was a bit slow. "We play, we get paid. Otherwise, forget it! We don't do hits, you want someone dead, go find yourself a street gang." He looked at the stranger rather disdainfully.  
  


Suddenly, Felix, who had remained silent during the entire bizarre 'business meeting', spoke up. "I remember who you are now! You're that guy! Christ, you got flattened by the hit-and-run and then you got up as if nothing had happened!" He glanced at Sam, who remembered the insane story Felix had told him. "Who the hell are you?"  
  


The stranger sighed. "Let's go someplace else and talk. No offence or anything, but this place stinks." He glanced pointedly at the Chinese food and the milk cartons and wrinkled his nose. Mark shrugged ruefully.

He turned and strode out the door. The four friends exchanged glances. The blond man, seeing that none of them had followed, sighed in exasperation. "Five hundred dollars each if we can leave this rattrap and have a civilized conversation. No strings attached."  
  


Another exchange of glances. They had no idea who this guy was, but two thousand dollars was enough to live on for more than a month. They would proceed with caution.  
  


Then, on a hunch, Felix said, "A thousand each and you've got a deal."  
  


The others looked at him, slightly shocked, but they trusted his instincts. The blond man nodded wearily, not looking so dangerous anymore. "Fine, a thousand apiece."  
  


Peter, emboldened, replied cheekily. "And you have to buy us dinner."  
  


Another exasperated sigh. "Why am I not surprised?"  
  
  
  
  
  



	24. Amongst the Four

Amongst the Four

  
  


Soundtrack: Precious Illusions (Alanis Morissette)

  
  


you'll rescue me right? in the exact same way they never did..

I'll be happy right? when your healing powers kick in

  
  


you'll complete me right? then my life can finally begin

I'll be worthy right? only when you realize the gem I am?

  
  


but this won't work now the way it once did

and I won't keep it up even though I would love to

once I know who I'm not then I'll know who I am

but I know I won't keep on playing the victim

  
  


these precious illusions in my head did not let me down

when I was defenseless

and parting with them is like parting with invisible best friends

  
  


this ring will help me yet as will you knight in shining armor

this pill will help me yet as will these boys gone through like water

  
  


but this won't work as well as the way it once did

cuz I want to decide between survival and bliss

and though I know who I'm not I still don't know who I am

but I know I won't keep on playing the victim

  
  


these precious illusions in my head did not let me down when I was a kid

and parting with them is like parting with a childhood best friend

  
  


I've spent so long firmly looking outside me

I've spent so much time living in survival mode

  
  


but this won't work now the way it once did

cuz I want to decide between survival and bliss

though I know who I'm not I still don't know who I am

but I know I won't keep on playing the victim

  
  


these precious illusions in my head did not let me down

when I was defenseless

and parting with them is like parting with invisible best friends

  
  


these precious illusions in my head did not let me down

when I was a kid

and parting with them is like parting with a childhood best friend

  
  
  
  
  
  


I admit, I *knew* that the four very tall former-Hobbits would literally eat all the food in my house, but I didn't have enough cash on me to take them out, (having given most of it to Gabe to buy hobbit-bait), so I found myself leading them toward my apartment. I was also rather nervous that they would freak out, beat me up, and disappear, but that's another story.

  
  


Despite the fact that it was one thirty in the morning, Mrs. Briggs opened the door with a beaming smile. Sometimes I wondered if the woman was even human. "Hello, there, Mr. Leo! You've been gone a few days. And oh-!" her cloudy gaze focussed on my four companions "you've brought friends with you!" She descended upon them in a flurry of candy-floss hair and lavender perfume. "Lovely to see you, dears!" she declared. "Any friend of Mr. Leo's is welcome here!"

  
  


Each thanked her profusely, with far better manners than they'd shown *me*. Hmm...perhaps if I'd dressed in drag and acted my age (approximately 34,000) , they would have been nicer to me. 

  
  


We trekked up the stairs, Peter moaning the entire trip about exhaustion brought on by hunger. Then again, subtlety had never been the hobbits' strong point. I heard Felix whispering to Sam, "I wish we had a landlord like that," and Sam's wholehearted agreement. At least, I was pretty certain it was Sam. I was distinguishing them all by personality, and I half-expected to turn around to see four short creatures with furry feet, grinning at me.

  
  


I was surprised, however, by the pang in my heart when I turned to behold four suspicious, hungry, and overly-tall rockers. I missed my friends of so many millennia ago. Some memories just didn't fade with time. Perhaps tonight would be the first step in reclaiming the friends I had lost.

  
  


We reached the top of the stairs and I unlocked the door, simultaneously speaking the trigger codes to deactivate my rune spells. As we entered the apartment, I remembered to warn them: "I've got a really, really old friend staying with me. He's a bit weird, though, so just ignore anything he says. He's a bum, mostly, eats my food, makes long distance calls on my phone, and sleeps on my couch."

  
  


There was a roar from the kitchen: "Who are you calling a bum, you pointy- eared elvish bastard?!?"

  
  


I suppressed a grin at Gimli -rather Gabe's- comment, and the confusion it caused among the four musicians. As one, their eyes flew to my ears, still safely covered with the bandana. I shrugged easily. "Like I said, he's a bit weird."

  
  


"Oh, just you wait, Master Elf..." Gabe grumbled as he emerged from the kitchen, to where the five of us now stood in the living room. His hand went for a weapon that he no longer carried, and he swore. Then he stopped dead in his tracks. "Damn," he groaned. "These days I'd be considered a psychotic axe murderer, wouldn't I?" 

  
  


I snorted at the image. "Probably, " I replied. Then I snorted again as I observed the Hobbits, who all appeared to be measuring sprinting distances to the nearest exits. "Hey Gabe, don't be so inconsiderate. Bring out some food for our guests."

  
  


The dwarf-turned-Princeton-professor stared at Felix, Sam, Peter, and Mark like they were laboratory specimens. "That's *them*?" he asked incredulously. 

  
  


I nodded.

"But they're *tall*!"

  
  


"I know. Kind of amusing, isn't it?"

  
  


"Ha ha. What do you guys want?"

  
  


Gabe headed for the kitchen once more, and I gestured towards Felix and Peter. "Give him a hand, will you?" 

  
  


They shrugged, and followed Gabe. A moment later: "What's in that bottle?"

  
  


"Lake Merlot," I replied. "Bottled in 2032. A good year and very-"

  
  


"Is it liquor?" Peter's voice interrupted.

  
  


"Yes."

  
  


"Then we'll drink it."

  
  


They returned a few minutes later, both carrying trays of microwaved vegetarian pizza, french bread which they had slathered with about seven jars of peanut butter and jam, chocolate biscotti (who knows where Gabe had found that) and what *looked* like spam. 

"Where did you *buy* that stuff?" I asked.

  
  


Gabe shrugged. "Here and there, y'know. The vegetarian pizza is for your delicate elven all-natural sensibilities. The spam is for the normal people."

  
  


Never mind. I knew they would eat it. In an ever-changing universe, where an infinite number of possibilities can be dreamed up, a Hobbit's appetite will remain constant. Even if he's been reincarnated as a six-foot plus rocker. 

  
  


They settled down in the comfortable chairs of my living room, tearing into the food as though they hadn't eaten in a week. I noticed with a sort of absent amusement that Sam had sat close to the plants, as if he longed to discover how I kept exotic flowers blooming in a tiny apartment in New Manhattan. They rustled in the evening breeze from the open window. I sobered though, thinking that this was not the young gardener I remembered, surname be damned. This kid probably had never had dirt under his fingernails in his life.

  
  


I let them all get a few gulps of Lake Merlot. This was going to be hard enough to explain as it was. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Gabe smirking at me. Stupid dwarf. The least he could do was come over and help me drag the Hobbits from these hormonally-imbalanced humans. But no, he was quite happy to sit back and enjoy the show.

  
  


I was really sick of this speech by now, but I decided to start with my standard beginning. "Gentlemen, I represent a consortium, a fellowship if you will, and right now, we need your help." Why, why, did I have to say that? It hadn't worked yet.

  
  


They looked at me blankly, and I forged ahead. "I'll ask you to suspend disbelief momentarily, and listen to what I have to say. You four are reborn members of an ancient race known as Hobbits, and you four are here, now, on Earth, to fight a dire threat, one that menaced the world when you were first alive. The threat of Sauron."

  
  


Peter glanced at me. "What, you've got another ring you want destroyed?"

  
  


I felt my jaw drop. The other rockers choked. Beside me, Gabe goggled. That was too easy. "You remember?" I asked, my voice strained.

  
  


He shrugged. "Sure. Why not? Past life experiences and all that crap. People get eaten by chimaera, for Christ's sake. Why shouldn't I be a Hobbit, named-" he squinted his eyes "Peregrin...no, Pippin!" He grinned impishly, and I saw a flash of the Tookishness which had been absent. 

  
  


The other three stared at him. "Peter," Felix said carefully, as though he feared that his friend would suddenly turn violent. "Are you out of your goddamned mind?"

  
  


"The little folk disappeared from this world many centuries ago," I replied.

  
  


Felix turned his sceptical gaze towards me. "Great. So you're telling me that we were all little leprechaun folk or something equally insane-"

  
  


"Not leprechauns, you moron!" Peter interrupted before I could say anything. "Hobbits, geez, it's completely different. What was it we told Treebeard...'put us in amongst the four, next to Man: Half-grown hobbits, the hole-dwellers'."

  
  


Mark looked at him thoughtfully. "We were lost...in Fangorn Forest. We found the Ents there..."

  
  


Peter grinned suddenly. "Mark. You're my best friend in the entire world, but 'Merry' is not the name of a straight man."

  
  


I watched the blood slowly drain out of his face. "If my parents hadn't been dead for millennia I would kill them for giving me a name like 'Meriadoc'. What were they *thinking*?"

  
  


"So how long have we been gone, Legolas?" Peter asked.

  
  


"About thirty thousand years," I admitted.

  
  


"That's a *long* time to be dead," he whistled.

  
  


Gabe brought my attention back to Sam and Felix with a grunt. They were alternating fearful glances at each other, their seemingly insane friends, and the door. I noticed that they were both eyeing their wineglasses with an unhealthy dose of suspicion.

  
  


"What did you *put* in this wine?" Sam asked, his eyes narrowed to slits.

  
  


Felix stared at his friends, who were currently singing a song about the man in the moon and a cow. "What the *hell* have you done to them?"

  
  


Hmm...this was not going well...how to get through to them?

  
  


First order of business, make the Brandybuck and the Took stop talking. They were scaring their friends. "Shut up, you two," I said absently. Then, a 'bright' idea occurred to me. 

  
  


I turned to Felix, and lapsed into the familiar patterns of elvish speech: ""Telin le thaed, periannath"." **

  
  


He blinked at me and coughed. "Sorry, I don't speak Welsh."

  
  


I sighed in exasperation as Merry and Pippin burst into laughter behind me.

  
  


"Sam!" I called. "Do you remember how much you wanted to see the elves?" I reached up and pulled off my bandana, revealing my distinctive ears.

  
  


His eyebrows shot up past his hairline, and he reached out and gripped Felix's arm. The two of them tensed, and, had I not been lost in thought, I would have recognized the warning signs. As it was, I was racking my brain for a way to break through their thick little hobbit-heads. 

  
  


Pippin shouted a warning, just as Gimli leaped from the couch, but Felix and Sam were already moving. I could do nothing as I saw two built rockers bearing down on me, as I had foolishly stood between them and the door. 

  
  


Oh, *shit*.

  
  


There was nothing to do but mentally sigh in resignation as I realized that I hadn't reactivated the wards on the door. And then I was flat on my back, feeling only *slightly* less worse for wear than when I'd been hit by the car.

  
  


Faintly, through the ringing in my ears, I heard them race down the stairs as the door swung shut. There was a muffled thump as they collided with an unfortunate tenant of my building. 

  
  


I sincerely hoped it wasn't Mrs. Briggs.

  
  


"Well, two out of four isn't that bad," Gabe drawled.

  
  


"Crap. They always did overreact," Merry said, and Pippin agreed.

  
  


I peeled myself off the floor, slowly. "No, it's my fault. I looked at them, and I saw three-foot hobbits who might kick me in the shins, not street kids who could knock me over."

  
  


"Hey, no short jokes! They've got two extra hobbits in there!"

  
  


I nodded wearily at Pippin's indignation, and turned towards the door. "Do either of you have any idea where they might go?"

  
  


Merry shrugged. "They might head back for their apartment, I dunno. They've got lots of bolt-holes that we don't know about."

  
  


Gabe grinned. "Hmph, thirty millennia later, and the lad's finally learned a bit of caution. Good for him."

  
  


"But bad for us," I replied. "How are your tracking skills, old friend? They can't have gotten far."

  
  


Gabe raised an eyebrow, but before he could answer Merry interrupted: "What about Aragorn? He's the tracker, isn't he?"

  
  


I glanced at him archly. "Aragorn is presently not speaking to me, as he thinks I'm a mental ward escapee." 

  
  


"Oh. Okay then."

  
  


"Come on, we've got hobbits to find." I headed for the door, followed by Gabe, Peter, and Mark.

  
  


************

  
  


Felix and Sam pounded down the stairs. They had no direction in mind once they made it to the relative safety of the streets below, but they had to get away.

  
  


Insanity, Felix decided. The two guys were obviously insane, or this was some kind of sick joke. He regretted leaving Mark and Peter behind, but they were spouting nonsense as well, and Felix wasn't sticking around to find out more.

  
  


They had made it down to the third floor landing when they collided with two other people going up. A man and a girl, were Felix's quick observations, the girl leaning heavily on her companion. The man's NYPD uniform only increased Felix's flight instinct, and he grabbed Sam's arm and pulled him bodily down the next staircase.

  
  


Then they were free of the place, sprinting out into the darkened streets, where they swiftly disappeared into the gloom.

  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  


** "Telin le thaed, periannath." Elvish for: "I'm here to help, Halfling."

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	25. One Moment in Time

Authors' Note: We forgot to put this in the last chapter. For all those who are concerned about the slash content of our story... the rating is *PG-13*. Snogging and smoochies are as far as we go. We promise... honest. Ivy has threatened, on numerous occasions, to stick a blowtorch in her eye if she or any of her nasty little co-authoresses exceed the PG-13 rating. Language is your only worry here...and most of it is Sun Queen's fault. Not that our characters swear every second word... * shows all three Nightrunners digging an inescapable pit, as they try to explain what they mean... Please come dig us out if you can !!* We give up, you know what we mean... * wave white flag of surrender*

Another little minor note. The New York nightclub by the name of the Outer Limits does not, as far we know, actually exist. However, it pays homage to a little club that once stood near Sun Queen and Ivory Moon's humble abode. Tragically, the Outer Limits burned down last spring. Good bye, dear club, and God rest your nasty little soul. 

  
  


One Moment in Time  
  


Soundtrack: When Doves Cry (Romeo+Juliet)  
  


how can you leave me standing?

alone in a world that's so cold?

maybe i'm just too demanding

maybe i'm just like my father, too bold

maybe i'm just like my mother

she's never satisfied

why do we scream at each other

this is what it sounds like

when doves cry  
  


(yes they cry, oh they cry)  
  


how could you leave me standing?

alone in a world thats so cold?

maybe i'm just too demanding

maybe i'm just like my father -- too bold

maybe i'm just like my mother

she's never satisfied

why do we scream at each other

this is what it sounds like

when doves cry  
  


(yeah, yeah (echo))

(this is what is sounds like)

(this is what is sounds like)

(this is what is sounds like)

(like (echo))  
  


dream if you can a courtyard

an ocean of violets in bloom

animals strike curious poses

they feel the heat

the heat between me and you  
  


maybe you're just like my mother

she's never satisfied (she's never satisfied)

why do we scream at each other

this is what it sounds like

when doves cry

(yeah, yeah (echo))  
  


(singing syllables)  
  


(you know that they cry)

(you know that they cry)

(you know that they cry)  
  


how can you just leave me standing?

alone in a world that's so cold? (a world that's so cold)

maybe i'm just too demanding (maybe, maybe i'm like my father)

maybe i'm just like my father too bold (ya know he's too bold)

maybe you're just like my mother (maybe you're just like my mother)

she's never satisfied (she's never satisfied)

why do we scream at each other

this is what it sounds like

when the doves cry  
  
  
  


We had just opened the door to leave when a body fell heavily against me. I gasped and reached for my knives, but swiftly recognized the figure...rather figures. NYPD Officer Adam Gordon stood before me, his uniform crumpled and stained, carrying an unconscious woman.  
  


Sweat ran down his face as he shoved me back into the apartment, and laid his burden gently on the sofa. "You've got to help her!" he hissed, locking eyes with me desperately.  
  


I was torn. I had to find the hobbits, but I needed Adam's trust. Finally, I gestured to Gabe. "Gimli, go, and take Peter with you. Try to find Sam and Felix, please?"  
  


They nodded, grabbing their jackets as they left the apartment. I gestured for Adam to close the door, as I bent to examine the woman. Faint recognition stirred in me, and I turned to ask him: "Who is she?"  
  


"It's Alice, my partner," he replied. "Please, can't you help her?"  
  


I looked at her face, beautiful, in spite of sunken closed eyes and feverish spots of colour. I looked again at Adam; his eyes filled with pain and terrible anxiety. Then I glanced toward the window, where I could faintly see stars, sparkling against the night sky. Then it clicked:  
  


"Ah, Undómiel. How far you have fallen, beautiful Lady," I murmured, stroking her blood-stiffened hair.  
  


"What did you call her?" The note of suspicion in Adam's voice deepened. "What are you doing?"  
  


I ignored his questions. "Mark," I called, without taking my eyes from the fallen woman. "Do you remember what the athelas plant looks like?"  
  


"Of course," he replied, obviously insulted.   
  


"Adam, listen to me. Mark will show you a potted plant in the corner. Pick seven of the largest leaves, boil a kettle of water in the kitchen and then steep the leaves. Bring it to me when it's ready. Quickly!"  
  


He hesitated, no doubt due to the strangeness of my orders. But Mark hurried over and dragged him from his partner's side.   
  


"Trust me, he knows what he's doing."  
  


Adam crossed the room again, the athelas clutched firmly in his hand. "How will I know when it's ready?" he asked, pausing before he entered the kitchen.

I didn't have any good answer for the King of Men. "You'll just know," I replied, and focussed on Alice once more. I wasn't a healer by any means, nor was I a great elven-lord like Elrond or Glorfindel. But I was one of the older elves, and I remembered the beautiful Evenstar. Perhaps, with the aid of this sceptical police officer, she could be saved. I had to hold her spirit, however, until Adam returned with the athelas brew. Holding one of her limp hands in mine, I closed my eyes and concentrated.  
  


""Tolo dan na ngalad! Lasto Undómiel...A si i-dhúath ú-orthor. Lasto Undómiel! Lîn rîw ú dollen. Lasto beth nîn, Arwen Undómiel..."" **  
  


I rocked slowly back and forth by her side, repeating the words over and over. I thought that she stirred, perhaps, once, as if she was listening to me. I raised my voice, still chanting, letting the lyrical words flow through us both. I placed both hands on her sweating brow, and implored her once more: ""Lasto Arwen"!"  
  


Adam came out of the kitchen quickly, carrying a mug of steaming liquid. He set it down beside her, and its pleasant fragrance drifted about the room. He looked first to it, then to me, with a look of doubt in his eyes. "I think it's ready," he said. "I don't know why I know, but..."  
  


I spoke close to her ear, in the most delicate of whispers. ""Lîn Estel tolo."" ***  
  


"Take the mug," I directed, moving away. "Bathe her face with the steam until she awakens."  
  


"Why can't you do it?" he asked in confusion.  
  


I smiled cryptically at him. "The hands of a King can heal."  
  


He still looked at me in bewilderment. I sighed. "Just do it."  
  


Having no other option, he did as I instructed. The purifying athelas steam swept over her face. Even from where I stood, I could see the normal colour returning to her face, and her eyes already seemed less sunken. She let out a tiny moan, struggling to wake.   
  


I held my breath, waiting, and her blue eyes finally opened. Her lids lifted slowly, and she focussed on the man hovering beside her. "Aragorn," she spoke finally, her voice a ragged whisper. "Did you not leave me after all?" 

Adam was confused by her words, I could tell, but frankly, he just looked relieved that she wasn't dead. "No," he whispered. "I would never leave you, Alice."  
  


I decided that it was time for me to leave. The Lady Arwen was alive, and I felt like I was intruding on their reunion.  
  
  
  
  
  


** "Tolo dan na ngalad! Lasto Undómiel...A si i-dhúath ú-orthor. Lasto Undómiel! Lîn rîw ú dollen. Lasto beth nîn, Arwen Undómiel..."  
  


Elvish for:   
  


"Come back to the light! Listen Evenstar...the shadow does not yet hold you. Listen Evenstar! Your winter has not come. Hear my voice, Arwen Evenstar..."  
  
  
  
  
  
*** "Lîn Estel tolo." Elvish for: "Your Hope has come."


	26. And Reality Sets in With a Sickening Thu...

Sorry, this was supposed to be up last night, but ff.net was down. We fixed the song a bit, so that it wasn't so freaking long. Not that it matters, 'cause nobody reads them anyway. Next update on Sunday, and it will be on time. Cheers

The Nightrunners

And Reality Sets in With a Sickening Thud...   
  


Soundtrack: It's All Coming Back To Me Now (Celine Dion)  
  


There were nights when the wind was so cold  
That my body froze in bed  
If I just listened to it  
Right outside the window  
  
There were days when the sun was so cruel  
That all the tears turned to dust  
And I just knew my eyes were  
Drying up forever  
  
  
But when you touch me like this  
And you hold me like that  
I just have to admit  
That it's all coming back to me  
When I touch you like this  
And I hold you like that  
It's so hard to believe but  
It's all coming back to me  
It's all coming back, it's all coming back to me now  
  
There were moments of gold  
And there were flashes of light  
There were things I'd never do again  
But then they'd always seemed right  
There were nights of endless pleasure  
It was more than any laws allow  
Baby Baby  
  
If I kiss you like this  
And if you whisper like that  
It was lost long ago  
But it's all coming back to me  
If you want me like this  
And if you need me like that  
It was dead long ago  
But it's all coming back to me  
It's so hard to resist And it's all coming back to me  
I can barely recall  
But it's all coming back to me now  
But it's all coming back  
  
There were those empty threats and hollow lies  
And whenever you tried to hurt me  
I just hurt you even worse  
And so much deeper  
  
There were hours that just went on for days  
When alone at last we'd count up all the chances  
That were lost to us forever  
  
But you were history with the slamming of the door  
And I made myself so strong again somehow  
And I never wasted any of my time on you since then  
  
But if I touch you like this  
And if you kiss me like that  
It was so long ago  
But it's all coming back to me  
If you touch me like this  
And if I kiss you like that  
It was gone with the wind  
But it's all coming back to me  
It's all coming back, (it's all coming back to me now)  
  
  
  
If you forgive me all this  
If I forgive you all that  
We forgive and forget  
And it's all coming back to me  
When you see me like this  
And when I see you like that  
We see just what we want to see  
All coming back to me  
The flesh and the fantasies  
All coming back to me  
I can barely recall but it's all coming back to me now  
  
  
  
  


"Alice?" she whispered. She was still quiet, but there was suddenly an undercurrent of danger in her voice.

I stopped dead.  
  


Adam stroked her hair, and smiled tenderly. He kissed her gently on the forehead. "I thought you were dead."  
  


"Dead?" she asked softly. "You thought *I* was dead?"  
  


Crap. The dangerous tone of voice was more noticeable than ever. Suddenly I remembered, with painful clarity, exactly *how* Aragorn and Arwen had come to be separated.  
  


I opened my mouth to speak, even as a little voice in my mind spoke the fatal words: "Too late..."  
  


Adam stiffened suddenly. He might not understand what was going on, but he had to know he'd said *something* wrong.

"YOU THOUGHT I WAS DEAD????" her voice rose to a scream, and she leapt from the couch, power crackling around her.  
  


Damn. The athelas had worked a bit too well. I slapped my hand to my forehead. "By the Valar, you only used to use two or three of those leaves in the old days, didn't you?" I asked him, rather rhetorically, since he clearly didn't understand me. 

"Arwen," I said, trying to keep my voice level. "Calm down. What do you remember?"  
  


"You" she turned to me, her eyes a solid blue. "I remember everything, you bastard I was happier not knowing, dammit"  
  


I backed away from her rage, holding my hands in from of me defensively. "Please, Arwen. This isn't helping anything."  
  


"Alice?" Adam approached her cautiously, and I winced, knowing, too late, what was to come.  
  


"But who is Alice?" she asked him, her tone almost sad. "Just Arwen." Her voice began to rise. "Just Arwen, cursed to walk once more without her love. You don't remember me, do you, Estel?" A magical wind swept about her. "A name cannot change who I am, my love. Nor should it change you. Why am I shouldered with such knowledge while you remain in blissful ignorance? Why do I remember the pain, when you will not speak my name?"   
  


The wind rose to a piercing wail and smashed him into the wall, making the entire apartment shake. "Why, son of Arathorn? What have I done to deserve to be cursed; to never have you by my side?"  
  


I fought against the wind, trying to avoid the objects flying around the room, vainly reaching for the crazed witch.  
  


"You always have to face the consequences of your actions," she called above the howling din. "Mortal or immortal, mistakes will always catch up to you."  
  


"Arwen Undómiel" I shouted. "Stop this madness. This is not the way! I know you're frightened, I know you're angry, but you must stop NOW"  
  


She whipped around to face me, power visibly crackling around here. "What would you know, Son of Thranduil?" she screamed.   
  


I held my hands open before me in a gesture of peace, still struggling to stand upright. "I've lost friends too, Arwen, over the long years. I understand better than you'd think. Please, won't you listen to me?"   
  


For a moment, I was certain that she would pick *me* up and slam me off the wall. Fortunately, Arwen's reasonable side prevailed. The winds gusted for a few moments longer, then died down. Her eyes returned to normal as Adam slowly slid, unconscious, to the floor.  
  


"I lost more than just a friend, Prince," she said then, her tone having cooled only slightly. "What would you have me do?"   
  


I had to think quickly: "You rage against him for an ancient wrong," I replied, gesturing to Adam. "That is not the man you remember. He has the...potential. But I need your help, Arwen. I need you to find within him the man you once loved, for his help is sorely needed."  
  


She looked at the crumpled figure forlornly. "Once loved? Oh no, my friend. I love him still, more the fool am I." She walked over to the window, past the broken pots and their mangled plants. She sighed bitterly. "I will help you, but give me time."  
  


"Stay and talk with me for a while?" I asked. "I can tell you what is happening. I can tell you why you're here."  
  


"Thank you," she said. "I'll stay." Glancing at Adam, she asked. "What about him?"   
  


I blinked, momentarily baffled. What *were* we going to do with Adam?  
  


At that moment, a figure emerged from the kitchen, carrying a sandwich. Surveying the carnage around him, he spoke: "I love what you've done with the place, my lady. It was far too neat before."  
  


She blushed slightly, and I answered for her. "Thanks Mark. Arwen, this is Meriadoc. You remember him, right?"  
  


She stared at him for a moment. "But he's tall" she said finally.  
  


"Gee, thanks," he grumbled. "Nobody says: 'Omigod, look at the gorgeous rocker.' Nooooo, they all say 'but he's tall' like I'm some sort of genetic freak."  
  


"Well, I'm very sorry you feel that way." I said dryly. "Will you take Adam home? He had a rather nasty battle with the wall."  
  


"Really? Who won?"  
  


"The wall."  
  


"Oh."  
  


I reached into Adam's pocket and took out his car keys. I tossed them to Mark. "You can drive, right?"  
  


"Nope. But I'm a fast learner."

"Want some help carrying him down?"  
  


He glanced at us, grinning. "Nah, I think I can handle it." Reaching over, he heaved Adam over his broad shoulder and headed for the door, whistling.  
  


I shook my head in disbelief as they left.  
  


"How times change," Arwen commented wryly.


	27. A Visit in the Night

Ladies and gentlemen of the review box: a note from the Nightrunners...mwahahahahahahahahahahahahahaaaa! *shows all three Nightrunners rolling on the floor in laughter* For those who want to know when the story's going to end. We don't have a clue. This poor project's snowballing out of control, and there is *no* end in sight. We expect that Part 1 (Part *One*, mind you) will be completed and posted by the Christmas holidays. After that...who knows? Least of all the Nightrunners. We sincerely hope you aren't getting sick of this story yet, because as Dru says, "We're just getting to the *fun* parts!" And it will be fun. We promise you. Mwahahahaha. Enjoy.

  
  


A Visit in the Night   
  


Soundtrack: Bent (Matchbox 20)  
  


If I fall along the way  
pick me up and dust me off.  
and if I get too tired to make it  
be my breath so I can walk  
  
If I need some other love  
give me more than I can stand  
and when my smile gets old and faded  
wait around I'll smile again  
  
shouldn't be so complicated  
just hold me and then  
just hold me again  
  
can you help me I'm bent  
I'm so scared that I'll never  
get put back together  
you're breaking me in  
and this is how we will end  
with you and me bent  
  
If I couldn't sleep could you sleep  
could you paint me better off  
could you sympathize with my needs  
I know you think I need a lot  
  
I started out clean but I'm jaded  
just phoning it in  
just breaking the skin  
  
start bending me  
It's never enough  
I feel all your pieces  
start bending me  
Keep bending me until I'm completely broken in  
  
shouldn't be so complicated  
just touch me and then  
just touch me again  
  


Whilst Arwen trashed Legolas' apartment, two figures ran stealthily through the shadowed streets, aided by years of practice.  
  


"Where are we going?" Sam hissed.  
  


"We can't go back to our place," Felix replied quietly, without slowing.  
  


Sam shrugged in mid-stride. "They might be watching it."  
  


"Let's head for the loft above the old electronics store. We've got a stash there good for a couple of days."  
  


With a solid destination in mind, they sped up, their feet making no noise on the cracked pavement. Their long coats flew behind them like wings, snapping in the night air.  
  


***********  
  


Five minutes later they slowed, ducking into a dark alleyway. Felix stumbled and almost fell over a homeless man hunched against the concrete wall, dressed in tattered grey rags. Muttering a hasty apology, Sam dragged his friend past without glancing down.   
  


They slipped through a hidden side door, entering a squat, dilapidated building. They passed swiftly through the main store, which was filled with gutted electronics too large to carry off. Anything smaller was long gone, carted away by thieves. Ignoring this, they entered a back room and climbed the stairwell to the second floor. Opening a small, disused door, Felix glanced in and nodded towards Sam. "Lucky for us it's warm tonight. No squatters to get rid of."  
  


The loft was not large by normal standards, but both young men could move about without too much difficulty. The dust and cobwebs about the place hinted that the place had not been inhabited for some time, to Felix's relief. Old metal filing cabinets, covered with drop-cloths, were the room's only adornments.  
  


Sam crouched over one cabinet, producing a small pin to pick the lock. A few moments later, a drawer slid open and he grinned. "Stuff's still here," he said triumphantly. Reaching in, he pulled out a cloth bag and tossed it to Felix.  
  


Opening it, he found, to his continuing relief, all the supplies they had left here some months ago: six bottles of water, a bag of dried fruit, two boxes of Oreos, and forty dollars in small bills.  
  


Ripping one package apart, he grabbed a cookie and ate it quickly. "It's pretty stale, but it's good enough, if we have to drop out of sight for a few days." The two of them pulled all the dust covers to the floor, assembling a make-shift bed in one corner.  
  


Falling into the bed beside Felix, Sam sighed. "You know, I always thought you were crazy, making us hide these caches all over Necropolis. And here we are, actually hiding from people crazier than us." He shook his head. "God, we're pathetic."  
  


Felix grinned and punched Sam in the arm. "You called me paranoid, didn't you? I've half a mind not to share the cookies with you," he said, faking a petulant tone.  
  


"What? You wouldn't want me to wither away and die, would you?" Sam replied, reaching over and pulling him into his arms. Felix smiled softly and settled his head comfortably against Sam's shoulder.  
  


"No, I guess not," he finally allowed. "You do make a damn fine pillow at times."  
  


Sam's quiet chuckle rumbled through his frame; Felix could feel it from where he lay. "That's it? Just a pillow? Is that all I'm good for?"  
  


His smile now suggestive, Felix craned his neck to see his lover's face. "Well," he admitted, "I guess you're good for one or two other things as well."  
  


"Such as?"  
  


"Oh, I think you can guess."  
  


Reaching up, he pulled Sam's head down, and kissed him. Sam returned it, and Felix twisted around to better snake his arms around Sam's neck, moaning softly.  
  


They broke away, gasping, some time later, and Felix ran his fingers lazily through Sam's shaggy blond hair. "You're good," he grinned, allowing himself to fall back into the dusty drop-cloths.   
  


"Thank you. Will you give me a freaking Oreo now?"  
  


"It's a good thing I love you," Felix said mock-disapprovingly. "No manners at all."  
  


Sam bit into the stale cookie thoughtfully. "It's a good thing we ate at that guy's apartment, anyway. We're not likely to see real food for a couple of days."  
  


"I'm not so sure," Felix replied, frowning. "I mean, the stuff they fed us had to be drugged. Why else would Mark and Peter go nuts like that?"  
  


"Dunno. They actually acted like they understood that blond guy. We should go back for them, you know."  
  


Felix nodded. "The blond guy, whatever they called him-"  
  


"Legolas," Sam interjected.  
  


"Right, Legolas. He didn't seem like the type who would hurt them, but you can't trust anybody. We'll head back once the sun comes up. We were crazy to run away like we did, and lucky to even get here alive."  
  


Nodding, Sam replied, "That's a good plan. But what was with him anyway? Both he and that Gabe guy referred to him as an elf. And those ears! They've got to be on flight, the two of them. Or maybe they're mages, or something..."  
  


"Nah, can't be evil magic-users. They were both mage-killers. Didn't you see their tattoos?"  
  


Sam grimaced. "That's just great. They're not ordinary insane people. They are both very *dangerous* insane people."  
  


"Morning," Felix repeated, nodding wearily. "We'll go back in the morning."  
  


"Then again, who knows?" Sam said, his voice suddenly optimistic. "Maybe this is Mark and Peter's twisted idea of a joke. If it is, I plan to cheerfully mash their faces into the waffle iron, set fire to their clothes, force-feed them dead bugs -"  
  


Felix found himself giggling rather hysterically at Sam's litany of kindergarten retribution tactics. Which, he decided, had probably been Sam's purpose, the sneaky bastard.  
  


Wiping the tears from his eyes, he opened his mouth to add his own possibilities for revenge. But a tiny, almost imperceptible movement out of the corner of his eye stopped him. Holding up a hand to warn Sam, he scanned the room quickly, searching even the deepest shadows, but, save for them, the room was empty.  
  


Deciding that he was being jumpy, Felix relaxed. At that moment, a voice echoed through the room: "So this is where you've been hiding yourself, Frodo Baggins."  
  


Felix had always thought, that at the moment of his death, he would have something clever and memorable to say. Apparently not, because the only thought in his head at this point ran along the lines of: "We're screwed".  
  


It was not exactly clever, nor was it memorable, but ultimately, it would prove to be true.   
  


Some people were just portents of doom.  
  


At that moment, Frodo Baggins, Felix Baker, and all combinations thereof, remembered everything that he had ever forgotten.  
  


The tattered beggar from the alley, cloaked in grey, stood in the doorway, as Felix collapsed in the pile of bedding. Unsurprisingly, his last thought as he passed out from the onslaught of memories, was still: "We're screwed."  
  


Gandalf had come to call.


	28. Streets of Shadow

Authors' Note: As far as we know, the Istari cannot die. If they do, they have a nasty habit of reappearing. 

Streets of Shadow  
  


Soundtrack: Redeemer(Queen of the Damned Soundtrack, Marilyn Manson)

The hunger inside given to me  
Makes me what I am  
Always it is calling me  
For the blood of man  
  
They say I cannot be this  
I am jaded, hiding from the day  
I can't bear, I cannot tame the hunger in me  
Oh I say I did it, always searching  
You can't fuck with fate  
So instead, you'll taste my pain  
  
The hunger inside given to me  
Makes me feel alive  
Always out stalking prey  
In the dark I hide  
  
Feeling, falling, hating, feel like   
I am fading, hating life  
  
They say I cannot be this  
I am jaded, hiding from the day  
I can't bear, I cannot tame the hunger in me  
Oh I say I did it, always searching  
You can't fuck with fate  
So instead, you'll taste my pain  
  
You say your life I'm taking  
always bothering me  
I can't take this anymore, I'm failing  
always smothering me  
You look down on me  
hate what you see  
Take this gift from me  
You will soon be amazed  
  
Nothing seems exciting  
Always the same hiding, hiding  
It's haunting me  
It's haunting me  
It's haunting me  
It's haunting me  
  
  
  


"Umm...Gimli? Where the hell are we going?"  
  


The professor grinned, and reached into the pocket of his jacket. Peter's eyes widened as Gabe handed him a small electronic controller. "What's this?" he asked, puzzled.  
  


"It's a homing device," Gabe explained. "I dropped a beacon in Felix's pocket when we were in the kitchen getting food."  
  


"Ooh, that was dastardly!"   
  


Shrugging, Gabe took it back, punching a few buttons. It immediately began to emit a soft beeping sound. He pointed down a side street. "They went that way."  
  


"Does Legolas know you have this stuff?"  
  


The smile dropped off Gabe's face as he grumbled, "Stupid elf. He knows damn well I have no tracking skills. No, he doesn't know I've got this. I figure we'll surprise him if we actually come back with those two in tow."  
  


Peter laughed. "So you didn't think he'd manage to get through to all of us?"  
  


Gabe chuckled gruffly. "Let's just say that I was preparing for the worst. Always a wise precaution, in my opinion. I remember how skeptical *I* was when he showed up in my office, and he was my best friend!"  
  


The beeping got progressively louder as they continued down the street, and they broke into a run. "We're getting close," Gimli observed.  
  


Suddenly, Peter grabbed his arm, pulling him to the side of the street. "Mages," he breathed. "Do you see them?" He gestured farther up the street, and Gabe saw half a dozen figures stalking through the darkness. He flicked a switch on the tracker, and the beeping stopped, shrouding them in silence.  
  


Gabe squinted, studying them. They were dressed ordinarily, but their eyes betrayed their negative magic. The irises were solidly coloured, without pupils, and they glowed softly in the night. The unsettling effect was similar to that of magic on spell-casting witches and wizards, but a mage's eyes were always like this. He knew that the mages often allowed the magic to control their bodies, so they were in a permanent state of magic-readiness. //Not a bad system. They can never be caught by surprise,// he thought, remembering his early battles against them. //Death by magic burnout isn't the way I'd choose to go though.//   
  
  
  


Both men melted into the shadows, and Gabe turned to his companion. "Have you got a weapon?" he whispered.  
  


"I've got a knife sheathed in my boot," Peter replied, pulling up the hood of his sweatshirt. "All four of us carry 'em."  
  


"Yeah, all I've got is a Ruger .45, one of those lightweight jobs. I think we're a little overmatched, don't you?"  
  


"That's not a very dwarvish attitude."  
  


"Yeah, well, thirty-thousand odd years give you a bit of sense. Shut up."  
  


"You know you may be right-- I'm thinking that discretion is definitely the better part of valor in this case."  
  


They crouched, motionless, in the shadows, not daring to breathe, as the mages passed by. One man had long, tangled brown dreadlocks that brushed his hips as he walked. Another was a woman with blood-red eyes and an intricate black mask tattooed over her forehead and cheekbones. Her male companion, holding her right arm, had ice-white hair, and skin so pale it was almost translucent. His nails looked sharp enough to cut glass.

The next two were harmless-looking, Joe Somebody and his friend; forgettable faces, brown eyes, and weak mouths. The last mage, however, was a good foot taller than Peter, bare muscles corded under his leather vest. He turned towards the shadows where the professor and the rocker were hiding, and his right eye twitched several times. He apparently detected nothing amiss however, and the huge mage turned to follow his friends. 

As they went, the incandescents overhead flickered weirdly. The magical energy the mages radiated was enough to momentarily throw off electrical impulses, useful as an advance warning of a mage presence. It had saved Gabe many times during the war, and had often given Peter time to escape the streets before he was blasted to cinders.   
  


A few minutes later, they both stirred. "I think they're gone." said Peter, shifting carefully into the light. Gabe followed him, keeping one wary hand on his gun.  
  


Fortunately, the streets were once again deserted; a few blocks away, they could hear faint screams. Peter whispered a quick prayer for whatever poor souls had met their ends in the cold streets. He shivered; there was no comfort in the icy light from the incandescents, nor in the clinging fog. "Come on, let's get out of here. Find Felix and Sam, and get our asses off the streets. I hate tempting fate like this."  
  


Gabe nodded, not voicing the agreement he whole-heartedly felt.   
  


**********  
  


The two men had barely gone fifty feet down the street when two tall figures crashed out of the alley, colliding with Gabe and Peter. Amid much cursing and tangling of limbs on the wet sidewalk, four figures struggled to their feet.  
  


Pushing his damp hair off his forehead, Peter swore as he realized the identity of their attackers. "Shit! What were you thinking, you idiots? We might have killed you!"  
  


Felix panted as he pulled Sam to his feet. "Right, right. Deeply sorry, Pippin."  
  


"What were you-hey!" Peter stopped dead. "You called me *Pippin*!"  
  


Felix didn't even stop to look at him; he and Sam were already halfway down the street. He called back over his shoulder. "Yeah, yeah, cousins, Middle-earth, Bag End, Sauron, god-damned almighty ring of power, I get it, I get it, can we just *go* already?"  
  


Stunned into silence, Gabe and Peter ran to catch up with the other two. No small feat, as the two young hobbits-turned-rockers were running as if the entire chimaera population in Necropolis were on their tails.   
  


"Where are we going, anyways?" asked Peter, panting a little in his effort to keep up. Behind him, he could hear the sturdy tread of Gimli's boots pounding the pavement.  
  


Sam latched onto Frodo's wrist and dragged him around the street corner, almost yanking him off his feet. "We're going back to Legolas' apartment. And then, we're going to do whatever he says."  
  


Peter looked over his shoulder and exchanged a glance with Gabe. No help there; something had caused his two friends to do a complete 180 in the belief department, but what?  
  


So intent on their flight, the four friends rounded a corner and ran smack into the mage gang.  
  


  
  



	29. First Blood

Authors' Note: Boromir is coming *eventually*. We just aren't sure when. We had him locked up in the closet with all the others, but he got out. Now we have to dig out the heavy artillery and find him. Do you *know* how much wilderness there is in Newfoundland?* The Nightrunners troop out of the house in combat fatigues intent on hunting down Sean Bean*. Secondly, we would like to reassure everyone that Super Gandalf will return. At some point. We think he escaped with Boromir. This could cause problems... Final, we wish to remind you that there are *NO* Mary Sues in this fic. Please keep this in mind. 

Namarie

First Blood:

Soundtrack: Livin' on the Edge (Aerosmith)

There's something wrong with the world today 

I don't know what it is 

Something's wrong with our eyes   
  


We're seeing things in a different way 

And God knows it ain't His 

It sure ain't no surprise   
  


We're livin' on the edge   
  


There's something wrong with the world today 

The light bulb's getting dim 

There's a melt down in the sky   
  


If you can judge a wise man 

By the color of his skin 

Then mister you're a better man than I   
  


We're livin on the edge 

You can't help yourself from fallin' 

Livin' on the edge 

You can't help yourself at all 

Livin' on the edge 

You can't stop yourself from fallin' 

Livin' on the edge   
  


Tell me what you think about your situation 

Complication-aggravation 

Is getting to you   
  


If chicken little tells you that the sky is fallin' 

And even if it wasn't would you still come crawlin' 

Back again? I bet you would my friend 

Again & again & again & again & again   
  


Tell me what you think about your situation 

Complication-aggravation 

Is getting to you   
  


If chicken little tells you that the sky is fallin' 

And even if it wasn't would you still come crawlin' 

Back again? I think you would my friend 

Again & again & again & again   
  


Something right with the world today 

And everybody knows it's wrong 

But we can tell them no or we can let it go 

But I would rather be hanging on   
  


Livin' on the edge 

Livin' on the edge 

Livin' on the edge 

Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah   
  


Livin' on the edge 

You can't help yourself from fallin' 

You can't help yourself at all 

Livin' on the edge 

You can't stop yourself from fallin' 

Livin' on the edge 

You can't help yourself 

You can't help yourself 

Livin' on the edge 

You can't help yourself at all 

You can't help yourself 

Livin' on the edge 

You can't stop yourself from fallin' 

Livin' on the edge   
  


For an split second, everybody froze. Nothing breathed on the foggy streets.  
  


Then, all hell broke loose.  
  


The female mage screamed, her hands flying to her front, a ball of blue-hot flame exploding over her palms. She flung her projectile at Sam and Felix, who dove and rolled in opposite directions. Behind them, Peter dropped behind a newsscreen booth and yanked his knife from his boot.

Ice-Boy bared his teeth as Felix rolled to his feet, drawing his knife in one fluid motion. "Not gonna help you, kid. You're gonna *fry*!"  
  


The young rocker snarled back, settling into a fighting stance. He'd had his share of scraps, and no way was he going to become another notch for some hopped-up magic-junkie's belt. The mage circled and charged, his sharp-nailed fingers reaching for Felix's throat. The ex-hobbit expertly flashed his blade, holding the magic-user at bay, though Ice-Boy scored a hit on his face. Glass-sharp nails raked his cheek, leaving burning trails of frost in their wake.  
  


Ice-Boy flashed his blood-flecked claws triumphantly, and waved his hand. At the last second, Felix recognized the spell and dodged. A wave of killing frost just clipped his shoulder and sent him spinning to the ground, his upper body and left arm numb and lifeless.  
  


Joe Somebody and his friend charged in, lightning crackling around them. Gabe dove for cover as a blue-white bolt lanced the space he'd occupied a bare second before. Falling back on the training that had saved his life may times before, he drew his gun and fired, twice. Joe the mage crumpled to the wet pavement, screaming, blood flowing from his shoulder and thigh.  
  


Peter leapt from his hiding place and threw his knife. It embedded itself with a satisfying *thud* in one of the mages' shoulders. Dreadlocks bellowed in pain and swung towards the tall rocker, firing a spell as he did. Agile as a cat, Peter ducked and rolled, calling on street-honed instincts and quite a bit of luck. The spell roared over his head and hit the huge, muscle-bound mage square in the center of his chest. His leather vest did little to cushion the blow as he was thrown clear across the street and smashed into a brick building. The big mage slid bonelessly to the sidewalk and lay sprawled there, unmoving.  
  


"Shit!" screamed Dreadlocks, and swung back towards Peter. But the young rocker was already moving. Locking his fingers into the mage's lank, dirty hair, he yanked him off balance, and threw him into the wall. Dreadlocks hit headfirst, slumped to the pavement, and didn't move again.

Gabe spun, looking for new targets. An instinct screamed just as Peter yelled "Gimli!!" He tried to dodge-  
  


-Too late, as the female mage who had been hovering over his head let loose with a barrage of spells. She screamed in triumph as they smashed into their intended target, her black tattoo contorting her face...  
  


...which turned into screams of pain as every spell ricocheted off the unharmed Gabe, slamming back into their caster. Blue flames lined her body; her back arched as every muscle in her body pulled tight. Her shrieks echoed in the streets as she smashed into the wet pavement, limbs twitching uncontrollably.   
  


Ice-Boy advanced on the fallen Felix, who was struggling to force his frozen limbs into motion. He narrowed his eyes and closed the fingers of his right hand around his knife. He'd only have one chance...  
  


The white mage laughed. It was a horrible sound. "I said you were gonna fry. Correction: you're gonna *freeze*."  
  


As he raised his hand for the killing blow, a blur of motion caught him mid-section. The mage's eyes widened as every breath of air was knocked out of his lungs. He crashed to the sidewalk, Sam landing atop him like a rugby player. His knife flashed once, twice, slicing cuts across Ice-Boy's cheekbones. Then, very purposefully, the burly rocker grabbed the stunned mage by the collar and slammed his head once, twice, three times off the sidewalk.  
  


That left the final mage, who was suddenly looked so pathetic that it was almost laughable . He cast a glance about at his fallen friends, coming to a rather smart decision. He took to his feet and bolted down the alley, clearing the ten-foot chain-link fence in a single leap. The sound of his running feet slowly faded away.  
  


Sam bent and pulled his friend to his feet. Felix wrapped his good arm around Sam's neck to steady himself. He kissed him hard, his hand buried in his lover's hair, then drew back. "Thanks." he grinned, flexing his fingers, trying to restore sensation.  
  


Sam looked amused, then gently touched his cheek. "The bastard clawed you." he said, dabbing at the blood with his sleeve.  
  


"S'okay. It's only shallow."  
  


"I got him back for you." Sam flicked a glance at the unconscious mage on the sidewalk, blood trickling from the slashes on his cheeks and his nose, collecting in a rather impressive puddle under his head.  
  


Felix grimaced as he flexed his fingers and biceps. "Moving's gonna be a bit of a problem, though. He clipped me with a killer frost."  
  


"Get your circulation going again, it'll pass."  
  


Gabe, in the meantime, flicked the safety back on his gun, tucking it back into his holster. "Hey, hobbits. You all okay?"  
  


Peter shook his head to clear it; that spell had nearly nailed him. Then he grinned. "Hey! I got two! I win!"   
  


Felix rolled his eyes. "New plan. Let's all kill Peter."  
  


Sam nodded vigorously. "I second that motion."  
  


"Shut up!" hissed Gabe suddenly, holding up a hand to quiet them. The hobbits froze, tall frames stiffening in the light of the flickering incandescents.  
  


It came again, a quiet whimpering from the shadows of the alley.  
  


Gabe paused, his hand drifting towards his gun. Suddenly, he stopped. It sounded like...  
  


...like a kid. 


	30. A Terror in the Dark

Authors' Note: No, the hobbits are not mage-killers...*yet*. You'll notice that at no point did anyone *die*. Eirual and Ivory Moon would also like to point out that this is *not* the place to harass Sun Queen about Mirkwood Elf. If you wish to do so in a review you leave here, at least have the courtesy to read our fic as well. The other two Nightrunners also promise to tie Sun Queen to the chair again to make her write another chapter, if at all possible.

  
  


A Terror in the Dark 

Soundtrack: Under Attack (ABBA)

Don't know how to take it, don't know where to go  
My resistance running low  
And every day the hold is getting tighter and it troubles me so  
(You know that I'm nobody's fool)  
I'm nobody's fool and yet it's clear to me  
I don't have a strategy  
It's just like taking candy from a baby and I think I must be

Under attack, I'm being taken  
About to crack, defences breaking  
Won't somebody see and save a heart  
Come and rescue me now 'cause I'm falling apart  
Under attack, I'm taking cover  
He saw my track, my chasing lover  
Thinking nothing's gonna stop him now  
Should I want to, I'm not sure, I won't know how

This is getting crazy, I should tell him so  
Really let my anger show  
'Cause waiting at the answer to his questions is a definite blow  
(I'm kind of certain that's the truth)  
Guess I'm kind of flattered but I'm scared as well  
Something like a magic spell  
I hardly dare to think of what could happen, where I'd be if I fell

Under attack, I'm being taken  
About to crack, defences breaking  
Won't somebody see and save a heart  
Come and rescue me now 'cause I'm falling apart  
Under attack, I'm taking cover  
He saw my track, my chasing lover  
Thinking nothing's gonna stop him now  
Should I want to, I'm not sure, I won't know how

Under attack, I'm being taken  
About to crack, defences breaking  
Won't somebody see and save a heart  
Come and rescue me now 'cause I'm falling apart  
Under attack, I'm taking cover  
He saw my track, my chasing lover  
Thinking nothing's gonna stop him now  
Should I want to, I'm not sure, I won't know how  
  
  
  
  


Gabe turned slowly towards the alley; the sound came again, a whimpering little cry that shook the silence.  
  


Sam inched forward. "It sounds like a kid."  
  


Peter fidgeted anxiously from foot to foot. "Aw, Christ, we can't stay here. Those mages might have friends. It's too dangerous!"  
  


Felix nodded. "Peter's right. We *have* to leave."  
  


Their conversation was interrupted rather suddenly by a teary-eyed little girl who crawled out of the shadows. Her skinny legs were bare and dirty, and she wore a shabby red coat over a black velvet dress. She stood, her skirt falling to cover her knees, tangled black hair hanging over her shoulders. If she was more than eight years old, Gabe would have been surprised.  
  


Three street kids and a Princeton professor had absolutely no idea what to do with a little girl. They glanced at each other in bewilderment as she rubbed her red, runny nose. The girl stared at them, her blue eyes huge and frightened. "Can you help me? I-I think I'm lost."  
  


At this, she burst into tears again. Felix moved towards her and awkwardly patted her on the shoulder. She spun towards him and buried her face in his sweatshirt, bawling.  
  


Sam and Peter exchanged looks, both trying to keep from laughing. Felix looked so far out of his element with a sobbing kid clinging to his front that they could barely keep straight faces.  
  


Gabe moved up and knelt beside her, putting on his best 'concerned adult' face. He gently pried her off Felix, who looked immensely relieved. "Hey, honey. What are you doing out so late? You know it's dangerous to be out in the streets alone."  
  


The little girl sniffled. "I was hiding from the mages. They're scary."  
  


"What's your name, sweetheart? You look way too young to be out here alone."  
  


"I'm Trish. I was hiding from the mages. Are they gone?"   
  


The words weren't out of her mouth when the incandescents overhead began to flicker. The hobbits started nervously, and scanned the streets. They froze suddenly, a far-off sound rooting them to the spot.  
  


An eerie, wailing howl. Though it was some distance away, it was nevertheless growing closer. It came again, and this time the rank stench of rot and decay floated by on the air. The smell of death.  
  


Peter squeezed his eyes shut. "Christ." he whispered, his hands clutching into fists. "Christ. A chimaera."   
  


Gabe tried to stay calm. He put his hands on the kid's shoulders and gently steered her face towards him. "Where's your mom and dad, honey?"  
  


"I don't *know*!" the girl cried. "I'm *lost*!" Tears were threatening to spill again, her little body shaking.  
  


The incandescents overhead were flashing in a frantic symphony of crackling power and whining electricity. The rank stench was becoming stronger, and the wailing howl wasn't more than two streets away. A scream erupted, a cry of pure terror and despair. It was abruptly cut off.   
  


Felix clamped a hand over Gabe's shoulder. "We have to go!" he yelled, his eyes darting towards the end of the street. The pavement was beginning to tremble under the dark creature's stride, shadows flashing in weird and grotesque patterns from the exploding incandescents. The pure magic overload was systematically blowing every circuit on the street.  
  


Sam was pulling Peter towards the alley. "Take the kid if you want, but we *have* to go!" Peter's face had gone grey, but he snagged Felix's wrist as they passed. Left with no choice, Gabe grabbed the little girl's arm and they followed.  
  


The four men and the girl fled down the alley as the chimaera turned onto the street, light flashing off its thick black scales. Felix caught a quick glimpse of mad red eyes, then he caught hold of the chain link fence that blocked the alley's exit. He scrabbled up ten feet, mortal terror giving him a good dose of strength. Beside him, Sam and Peter hauled themselves over the top, and tumbled to their feet on the other side. They turned, ready to bolt, as Gabe clambered hand over fist up the chain link, swinging his legs over the top, and landing in a crouch on the wet pavement. Behind him, the little girl squirmed through a small gap under the fence. Felix grabbed her wrists and yanked her free. She shrieked as he hooked her skinny body over his shoulder, and charged out of the alley, Gabe, Sam, and Peter close on his heels.  
  


He didn't know how long they ran. The entire world narrowed to his pounding heart, the little girl's gasps and her bony knees digging into his stomach. Behind him, three pairs of boots beat the pavement. Swerving into another alley, up another street, through a tenement house, tripping over a group of swearing squatters, out a broken window, and into another alley.  
  


Felix dropped the little girl and leaned against the wall, gasping for air. Fortunately, this alley was uninhabited; ground fog drifted around their ankles, winding around bulging plastic garbage bags and a rusty dumpster. The stench was terrific.  
  


Peter slumped to the ground, panting in exhaustion and pain. Sam hooked his arms around Felix with a low moan of terror, his eyes wide. Felix clutched his friend until the worst of the shaking stopped, and Sam could breathe normally again.  
  


Gabe was kneeling near the dumpster, his head dropped, inhaling deeply until he felt his heart begin to slow. The adrenaline began to drain from his system, leaving him weak and exhausted.  
  


Peter crawled over to the little girl, who grabbed his arm and held tight. He gathered her into a hug and didn't let her go until she stopped whimpering. Her legs were dirty and bleeding from her frantic trip under the alley fence, and her face was blotchy from crying.  
  


"Shhh, shhh." he whispered, petting her snarled black hair gently until her sobs slowed to hiccups. "It's okay, we're safe now. It didn't catch us."  
  


The little girl lifted her face to meet his. "Don't leave me." she whispered, her blue eyes miserable. "I don't want to be awwwwwwone."  
  


Peter met Felix's gaze. He shrugged helplessly. "What can we do? We can't leave her alone here, she won't last 'til sunrise."  
  


Felix sighed, and Sam nodded.  
  


Gabe stood, moving across the alley to pull the ex-hobbits to their feet. "We'll take her with us. Maybe we can leave her with the cops."  
  


"No!" the little girl yelled. "I want to stay with you!" Her lip quivered again. "Don't leave me..."  
  


Sam squeezed her shoulder. "Okay, honey, we won't leave you. But you're gonna have to stay close. We have to get home."  
  


"Okay."  
  


The professor, the rockers, and the little girl darted into the empty street, anxious to get home before anyone else decided to take an interest in them.   
  


  
  



	31. Cheerios and Crazy People

Happy December the first to everyone. Eirual is very happy, as she can finally listen to Christmas music :) For anyone looking for updates to Mirkwood Elf, don't expect any soon. Sun Queen and Ivory Moon have gone on a trip for the next few days, putting a slight damper on the writing process. Don't worry about this story however. Updates shall continue at the regular times. Enjoy the chapter.

The only Nightrunners left, Eirual  
  


Cheerios and Crazy People:

Soundtrack: Don't Let Me Get Me (Pink)  
  
  
  


I never win 1st place  
I don't support the team  
I can't take direction  
And my socks are never clean  
Teachers dated me  
My parents hated me  
I was always in a fight  
'Cause I can't do nothing right  
  
Everyday I fight a war against the mirror  
Can't take the person staring back at me  
  
I'm a hazard to myself  
Don't let me get me  
I'm my own worst enemy  
It's bad when you annoy yourself  
So irritating  
Don't want to be my friend no more  
I wanna be somebody else  


So doctor doctor won't you please prescribe me something  
A day in the life of someone else

I'm a hazard to myself  
Don't let me get me  
I'm my own worst enemy  
It's bad when you annoy yourself  
So irritating  
Don't want to be my friend no more  
I wanna be somebody else  
  
  
  
  


Adam awoke to the customary rattle and crash of someone in an unfamiliar house attempting to find something and still remain quiet. He was rather confused as to how he had managed to wake up in his own bed with no memory of how he had gotten there. He hoped this wasn't going to become a habit. Waking up with a pounding headache and a vague recollection of being attacked and beaten to a proverbial pulp too many times was a good way to ensure the future employment of many expensive psychiatrists.   
  


The rattle from the kitchen intensified. A rather loud crash was immediately followed by a string of indistinct words, nonetheless identifiable as cursing. More worrisome to Adam, however, was the sudden silence.   
  


Not too worrisome though. Paranoia ran amok in Necropolis citizens, especially the cops. Anyone who was *stupid* enough to go to sleep unarmed would, more than likely, never wake up again. As much as Adam enjoyed his rest, it wasn't on his top-ten list for a permanent vacation spot.   
  


His bedroom door swung open. Adam had just enough time to be thankful that he was very lax in oiling the hinges before he started to move.  
  


"Gnnmorphing Afem..." Adam had to give the guy credit. Not many kept talking when a cop shoved a gun up their nose. Even fewer people could manage to sound cheerful at the same time.  
  


For Mark's part, he couldn't decide which was funnier. The fact that Aragorn was threatening him with a gun up his nose, or the fact that he could now pound him into a greasy little puddle. Actually, he wasn't sure if he *could* beat the ex-king, but it would sure be fun to try.   
  


"Who are you? And what the *hell* are you doing in *my* apartment?"  
  


Then again, maybe not.

"Hi. I'm Mark Brand. We met at Legolas' place. Are you feeling better? I made you breakfast."  
  


Adam glanced down at the contents of the tray. He *thought* that the bowl contained cereal of some sort. He wasn't really sure. 

"Look, I made *Cheerios*." He seemed very proud of this accomplishment. "Please don't shoot me. I *know* that you're a healer and all, but it would hurt a lot, and I'd get blood in the carpet, and you really don't want to spend the rest of the day cleaning blood out of your carpet, do you?"  
  


"Shut up."

"Oh. 'kay. No problem. I can do that. Shutting up is not a problem. See, this is me shutting up. Pip, I mean Peter, always says that I babble too much, and that I..."

Adam just stared at the rocker, incredulity creeping across his features. Inarticulate babble continued wash over him, but Adam wasn't really paying attention anymore. It suddenly occurred to him that the *polite* thing to do would be to remove his gun from Mark's nose.  
  


"Breakfast?"

Mark nodded in encouragement. "I brought asprin too. It might help after the beating that the Lady Arwen gave you. Oh, and before I forget to ask, how are you feeling, Aragorn?"  
  


Adam tensed again. "You're another one of those bloody lunatics, aren't you!? *Leave*. *Me*. *Alone*. I am not the person you all seem to think I am. I can't help you. Placing your trust in me is like bungee jumping with cobwebs."  
  


Mark set down the tray, and sat Adam down on his bed. Flopping down next to him, he leaned forward conspiratorially.  
  


"Officer Gordon, may I call you Adam? Great. Now, let me tell you a little story. Once upon a time there was a king of Men. His name was Aragorn, son of Arathorn, son of some guy whose name started with Ar... and so on, blah blah blah, I can't remember the rest. Not that it matters. At any rate, his great great to the billionth power grandfather fucked up big time. Three thousand years later, Aragorn was still beating himself up over this. He was convinced that he would be responsible for the entire world breaking up like a jigsaw puzzle just because he was from the same bloodline. Now, how *stupid* can you get?"  
  


He seemed to want an answer, so Adam hazarded a guess. "Pretty stupid?"  
  


"Exactly."  
  


"I still can't help you Merry. I hurt all of you. I hurt her. I won't make the same mistakes again. Never again..."  
  


" Aragorn, I..."  
  


"I TOLD YOU I'M NOT THIS ARAGORN PERSON! I CAN'T *HELP* YOU!!"  
  


To his complete surprise, Mark started to laugh.  
  


" You really *are* insane, aren't you?" Adam fought the urge to see *exactly* how far up Mark's nose he could make his gun go.  
  


" No. I'm not insane, although a number of my old friends seem to have formed this opinion lately. You guys haven't started a club or anything, have you?"  
  


Adam found he had no answer to this. He shook his head, wondering what he had done to have his life screwed up in this manner. // I bet it's because I wrecked Barry's car when I was 17, and blamed it on Finn.//  
  


He realized that Mark was speaking again, and tried to focus.   
  


"...so you're truly out of it, I think. You're: 'I can't help you Merry' one second, then 'Who the hell are you?' the next. It's like, first you're Adam, then you're Aragorn, then Adam's back, the stubborn bastard. You're there, then you're not there, then you're there, then you're not there-"  
  


"Huh?"  
  


Mark waved his arms towards Adam, looking pleased. "Look, see? You're gone again."  
  


Adam had a very strong urge to just get up and leave. At this point he was fairly worried about Alice. His last recollection of her involved great amounts of pain, coupled with the vague memory of being beaten off the walls several times in rapid succession. He decided to voice this worry:  
  


"Look, I'm sure this is all very interesting, but I need to go make sure my partner is okay."  
  


"Lady Undómiel? Oh, she's fine. She's over at Legolas', I think."  
  


"Why am I not reassured somehow?"  
  


As Adam made a move for the door, the ground decided that it was going to take on properties similar to a wave tank. It lurched.   
  


Mark caught him by the shoulder before he hit the floor. "Hey, take it easy." Steering Adam back to his bed, he continued the earlier conversation as though nothing had happened. "Besides, she really beat the crap out of you. I'm not sure if a visit from you is quite what she needs at the moment. Or exactly what you need either. She gave you quite a concussion." He continued to prattle on as he tucked Adam back into bed.   
  


The last thing he heard before he fell asleep was: "Anyway, I drove you home last night. Your keys are on the dresser, but I'm not sure if they'll do you much good. I forgot about the parking regulations around here, so your car's been impounded. It shouldn't cost *too* much to get it back. Sleep well."  
  


// Stupid hobbit....//   
  


  
  


  
  
  
  


  
  



	32. Phone Calls and The Bag

Authors' Note:* Sun Queen and Ivory Moon duck as Eirual steps into rant mode.* **PLEASE DO NOT LEAVE MESSAGES ABOUT MIRKWOOD ELF ON OUR REVIEW PAGE. Mention it at the *end* of your review for *our* fic, if you wish. It's rude to come into our story to bother Sun Queen. Write her yourself if you must. Thank you.**

*Eirual steps down and returns to normal.*

We wish to mention that the *first* part of this story is starting to wind down. It should go until Christmas or thereabouts. Don't worry however, part two should start soon after Boxing Day. Enjoy.

The Nightrunners (who are back from Toronto by the way) 

  
  


Phone Calls and *The Bag*:

Soundtrack: The Dreaming Tree (Dave Matthews Band)

Standing here  
The old man said to me,  
"Long before these crowded streets  
Here stood my dreaming tree."  
Below it he would sit  
For hours at a time  
Now progress takes away  
What forever took to find  
And now he's falling hard  
He feels the falling dark  
How he longs to be  
Beneath his dreaming tree  
  
Conquered fear to climb  
A moment froze in time  
When the girl who first he kissed  
Promised him she'd be his  
Remembered mother's words  
There beneath the tree  
"No matter what the world  
You'll always be my baby."  
"Mommy come quick,  
The dreaming tree has died."  
The air is growing thick  
A fear he cannot hide  
The dreaming tree has died  
  
Oh, have you no pity?  
This thing I do  
I do not deny it  
All through this smile  
As crooked as danger  
I do not deny  
I know in my mind  
I would leave you now  
If I had the strength to  
I would leave you up  
To your own devices  
Will you not talk?  
Can you take pity?  
I don't ask much  
But won't you speak, please?  
  
From the start  
She knew she had it made  
Easy up 'til then  
For sure she'd make the grade  
Adorers came in hordes  
To lay down in her wake  
Gave it all she had  
But treasures slowly fade  
Now she's falling hard  
Feels the fall of dark  
How did this fall apart?  
She drinks to fill it up  
A smile of sweetest flowers  
Wilted so and soured  
Black tears stain the cheeks  
That once were so admired  
She thinks when she was small  
There on her father's knee  
How he had promised her,  
"You'll always be my baby."  
"Daddy come quick,  
The dreaming tree has died  
I can't find my way home  
There is no place to hide  
The dreaming tree has died."  
  
Oh, if I had the strength to  
I would leave you up  
To your own devices  
Will you not talk?  
Can you take pity?  
I don't ask much  
But won't you speak, please?  
  
Take me back, take me back, take me back...  
  
Save me please.  


  
  
  
  
  
  


"So what are we really doing here, Legolas?" Arwen's voice sounded tired, so tired.

  
  


I didn't have a good answer for the human woman. "Past mistakes, maybe?" I hazarded. "We screwed up so bad last time, so we're back again to slay some orc, save the world, stop the evil..."

  
  


My attempt to lighten the mood fell flat. "Break some more hearts?" Arwen asked.

  
  


I shrugged helplessly. "I don't know what to tell you, Undómiel. I'm so far out my depth here..."

  
  


"But what do you think I should do?" she pressed. "Damn elf! You hate giving advice, don't you? You're all the same."

  
  


I snorted. "A bit rich, coming from you."

  
  


"'Go not to the elves for counsel, for they will say both no and yes,'" she quoted, smiling slightly. "But honestly, Legolas. I don't know what to do. I want to go to him, I want to see him again, but..." she trailed off.

  
  


"It hurts," I finished. "He doesn't know who you are. He cannot understand."

  
  


"If he did, I could forgive him," she admitted. "If he could look at me with love in his eyes, I could forgive him anything. He did that to me." Sinking to the couch, she continued. "But right now? It would all be a lie. He is not Aragorn to me, and I am not Alice for him."

  
  


"Hmm...so you're in love with Aragorn, but he's currently stuck as Adam. At the same time, Adam's in love with you, but he thinks you're Alice, so that doesn't count." I shook my head. "Life's a bitch sometimes, isn't it, Arwen?"

  
  


She chuckled lightly. "When did you become perceptive and all Freud-like?"

  
  


"I *met* Freud, Lady. I've had thirty millennia to practice my perceptiveness. Do you know how long that is?"

  
  


"Ouch. But being dead doesn't mean that you forget."

  
  


"I know. But consider this a fresh start, a second chance."

  
  


She eyed me dubiously. "A second chance?"

  
  


"Okay, let's try this: next time you see him, try to *not* beat him off the walls. Then we'll see what happens. How's that?"

  
  


She laughed. Her clear laughter might have contained a trace of the maniacal, but it was only a very small part. "It's a start. None of us have had a very good week, have we?"

  
  


"Well, I got hit by a car, covered in river water, punched by a NYPD officer, stampeded by rampaging rocker-hobbits, and had my apartment trashed by a psychotic witch."

  
  


"Well, I was suffering from chronic depression -couldn't figure out why before- then I overdosed on flight, found out I was depressed because I'm a elven princess reincarnated, nearly died, and then assaulted a cop who is the love of my life."

  
  


"Fine," I grumbled. "You win. You *did* have a worse week than me." 

  
  


She opened her mouth to reply, but was interrupted by the telephone. It echoed weirdly through the ruined apartment. Arwen looked at me, her expression worried. "Who would call you *now*?"

  
  


The telephone rang again, its tone discordant. I eyed it apprehensively. "I don't know," I replied, reaching towards the receiver.

  
  


************

  
  


Felix suppressed a sigh of relief when Legolas's apartment came into view. "Come on, let's get inside," he said.

  
  


Gabe lingered momentarily, running a practiced eye along the street. The weak light of dawn was just beginning to hover on the horizon, reflecting on the far-away river. More importantly, however, all the incandescents were glowing steadily, showing that there had been no recent magic use in the area. 

  
  


Peter tugged on Trish's arm, ushering her towards the door. Felix rapped smartly, and to nobody's surprise, Mrs. Briggs opened the door with her usual smile. "So nice to see you, dears," she exclaimed, as if it were not dawn, and they weren't covered in dirt and blood from their recent battle. 

  
  


"Good morning, Mrs. Briggs," Peter said jauntily.

  
  


"Mr. Leo is upstairs with that lovely young lady," Mrs. Briggs continued, as if unaware that Arwen had entered the apartment near death only six hours earlier. "Go on up."

  
  


The hobbits headed into the lobby, followed by Gabe, with Trish trailing them. "But who's this?" Mrs. Briggs asked suddenly as the little girl entered. The others stopped dead, not at her words, but at her tone. Gone was the sugary old-lady voice; it had been replaced with something far colder. 

  
  


Sam looked back, gesturing for the girl to follow. "This is Trish," he explained. "She's lost; we found her out on the streets. Don't worry, we're taking care of it."

  
  


Mrs. Briggs peered at them, and studied Trish once more. "Well. Isn't that nice?" she asked, her voice not a bit warmer. "Thank heavens they found you, sweetheart." She nodded to the others. "Up you go then. Be careful, my darlings," she said, and shuffled out of the lobby.

  
  


"That was weird," Felix commented.

  
  


***********

  
  


I picked up the phone, dread coiling in my stomach. This was bad. Elven intuition was rarely wrong. "Hello?"

  
  


"Legolas?"

  
  


I recognized the voice instantly. "Glorfindel? What is it?"

  
  


"It's bad, Legolas. Get everybody together, and get out of your place now. Get out of New York."

  
  


"What? Why, Glorfindel? It's too soon. I haven't got everybody!"

  
  


He ignored me and continued. "Get to the JFK. Gate 54. A plane will be waiting."

  
  


"I don't understand."

  
  


"Legolas, I think the phone is tapped. I can't talk. Please, just get out. Now!" In my immortal life, I had never heard Glorfindel sound frightened. He did now. In fact, he was positively frantic.

  
  


"Glorfindel, what's coming? What is it?"

  
  


"The Nine, it's the-"

  
  


The lights flickered.

  
  


The phone buzzed momentarily with static, garbling the Eldar's words. I strained to catch what he was saying over the rising hiss, and caught: "-White City Enterprises, Legol-" .

  
  


The lights flickered again, and the static cut out suddenly. 

  
  


The line was dead.

  
  


"Glorfindel? Glorfindel!!" I slammed the phone down. "Dammit!" Rounding on Arwen, I demanded, "Are you sensing any magic use around? Anything?"

Her eyes went a solid blue as she cast a seeking spell. Several seconds later, she blinked, her pupils returning to normal. Looking confused, she shook her head. "Nothing. If there was anybody casting, they're gone now." She looked at me imploringly. "It could just have been a coincidence."

  
  


"I doubt it. That was Glorfindel. Apparently, there's something big headed our way. We've got to get to the airport. We've got to get out of New York."

  
  


I stepped away from Arwen, my mind reeling. I didn't know where the hell the others were, as far as I knew, Sam and Felix were still running the streets of Necropolis. I headed for the door, half formed plans racing through my head. Arwen followed me uncertainly, but before I got there, I heard the rune-trigger being shouted from the hallway.

  
  


"Legolas!"

  
  


I scanned every person as they piled into my apartment. Gimli. Pip. Sam and Frodo? Excellent. They showed up. Oh, look, some ragged little street kid I didn't know. Well, this was an unexpected turn of events. 

  
  


"Hey guys," I greeted. "Guess what? We're leaving New York. Right about... *now*!"

  
  


"Sounds good," Felix agreed. 

  
  


"What do you mean?" I asked, half-curious despite myself.

  
  


He looked down, refusing suddenly to meet my gaze. "I just think that this place is getting too hot," he said. "I mean, the mage activity here is not good."

  
  


Gabe nodded. "He's right, Legolas. We went up against half a dozen mages just to get back here." He gestured to the little girl. "This is Trish. That gang was after her."

  
  


I spared the girl a single glance, then returned to the subject. "Anyway, we're leaving. I just got a call from Glorfindel, something about the Nine being after us..."

  
  


"Oh. Yay." Pippin turned and headed for the kitchen. 

  
  


"Where are you going?" I asked.

  
  


"Getting supplies." I heard the fridge door open, and then the hobbit was rummaging around, tossing leftovers onto the counter. 

  
  


"Right," I turned and walked to the bedroom, where I opened the closet and looked around frantically for a bag. Spotting one of Gabe's hockey bags, I hefted it onto the bed. I ripped it open, planning on dumping the contents to the floor, and stuffing my clothes into it. Yes, that was certainly my initial plan...

  
  


"Holy shit!"

  
  


The others came running at my shout, to find me staring at The Bag with something resembling shock. "Gabe..."

  
  


"Oh," he said, totally unconcerned. "You opened one of my bags."

  
  


"Gimli," I muttered, "how many weapons did you bring with you?"

  
  


He peered into the hockey bag, tossing several nasty-looking guns onto the bed. "This is the smallest one. There's four more like it."

  
  


Felix peered over my shoulder, and whistled, impressed. "Wow. That's a *lot* of weaponry."

  
  


"Where the hell did you *get* all this stuff?" I asked, still not believing that this arsenal had been in my apartment for days without my knowledge.

  
  


He shrugged, suddenly not interested in looking at me. "Here and there, y'know. Christmas, birthday gifts, that kind of thing. Some of it is pre-war, but it should still be useful."

  
  


He reached into The Bag, picking up several wicked-looking knives. He passed them around to the three hobbits present. "Here," he said, "take these. They've got better balance than the ones you've got."

  
  


In the manner of Santa's insane half-brother, he distributed the remaining items from The Bag.

  
  


He handed me a small, nasty-looking handgun. "Elf. This is a gun. Do you know how to work it?"

  
  


I calmly swiped the sleek weapon, and in ten seconds had it disassembled. Ten more seconds and it was back together. I swung it around my finger like a nineteenth-century gunfighter, slammed on the silencer, dropped into a firing crouch, and nailed my reflection in the bedroom mirror.

  
  


The ex-dwarf-turned-professor looked impressed. "Good. I was afraid you still only used that poncy bow of yours."

  
  


"Piss off." 

  
  


For a while, the hobbits amused themselves by holding open a canvas rucksack and attempting to fill it with clothing tossed from across the room. Finally, Gimli muscled them out the door with instructions to make excuses to Mrs. Briggs. I was glad; the Nine might be after us, the city might be going to hell, and we might be flying into the face of certain death, but I'd be damned if I was losing my lease. Arwen was in the kitchen making Trish a milkshake. A milkshake? I had milk?

Finally, we had managed to pack all the weaponry and clothing that could be carried without having to sit on the bags to zip them up. As we passed through the living room --correction, what *used* to be my living room before it was wrecked by a witch with an anger management problem-- I saw Sam bending to scoop up a handful of the scattered athelas leaves. I grinned; it looked like a bit of the gardener had survived. 

  
  


"Right, then?" I asked. "Let's go."

  
  


We headed for the door, but I held up my hand in sudden warning. I cocked my head, and heard the swift patter of feet on the stairs. I opened the door cautiously, vaguely noticing that Arwen was charging a spell behind me. The others held their breath, watching, waiting...

  
  


Mark's cropped head poked up over the landing, and he grinned. "What did I miss?" he asked innocently.

  
  


I twitched. "Where's Adam?" I asked, my voice lowering dangerously.

  
  


Mark shrugged, oblivious. "I left him at his place and walked back."

  
  


"You moron!" Arwen exploded. "You half-witted, scruffy halfling. He could be in danger!"

  
  


"What's going on, anyway?"

  
  


Screw this, I wasn't explaining *that* again. I grabbed the ex-hobbit by the scruff of the neck, vaguely realizing that this didn't work so well now that he was as tall as I was. Stuffing the rucksack full of guns into his arms, I steered him towards the stairs. Behind me, Arwen and Felix were ushering Trish out of the apartment. She was still slurping her milkshake, a contented expression on her face.

  
  


We reached the lobby, which was mercifully empty; my building's *sane* tenants were mostly still asleep at this lovely hour of dawn. Then it hit me. How the hell were we planning to get to the airport? We didn't have Adam's car, and none of the hobbits had any means of transport.

  
  


This occurred to Felix at the same moment. "Ummm, Legolas? You don't have a car, do you?"

  
  


We might have still been standing in the bloody lobby, surrounded by bags of weaponry, had Gabe not arrived. Seeing him appear at the bottom of the stairs lit inspiration in my brain. "Gimli..." I ventured innocently, "how are your hot-wiring skills?"

  
  


His face fell. "Oh, no, no way, Elf-boy-"

  
  


"Gimli, this is where I point out that we are *seriously* running low on options." I pointed at the line of parked cars across the street. "That one and that one. Do it. Now."

  
  


Gimli broke into the cars I'd indicated with a speed that made me slightly nervous. The alarms didn't even have a chance to begin wailing before the ex-dwarf shut them off. I turned to the rest of our merry little band. "Okay, who is actually *licensed* to drive a car?"

  
  


Blank stares met mine. Alice groaned. "I can drive. But may *I* point out that we are violating about sixteen *major* laws and we can't fight the threat of Sauron if we're locked in a nice jail cell somewhere..."

  
  


I shrugged. "So we'll be really careful." I turned to her. "Besides, you're not going to report us, are you, Officer Starr?"

  
  


Her blue-eyed gaze bored into me. "Shut it, Thranduillion."

  
  


I realized that the little girl, Trish, was still clinging to Felix's arm. Shit. This was going to be a problem. I crouched down to face her. "Hey honey, we have to get out of New York 'cause we're in a lot of trouble."

  
  


Behind me, one of the hobbits snorted. "Understatement."

  
  


"So," I continued, "We're going to have to drop you off somewhere before we leave. Where are your parents? Where's your family?" 

Her eyes grew huge. "No-no-no!" Her voice rose in intensity, a pathetic little cry. "Don't leave me!!"

  
  


"But sweetheart," Gabe tried to reason with her, "We can't take you out of the city with us. That's kidnaping, and your parents-"

  
  


"My mommy's gone, I can't stay here." She looked like she was about to cry. "Please, don't leave me." 

  
  


Sam cut in, "We could leave her with Mrs. Briggs-"

  
  


"No," she said, her voice adamant.

  
  


"But-"

  
  


"*No*."

  
  


I realized there was no reasoning with a stubborn eight-year-old. I sighed. "Fine, we'll take her to the White City. Elrond and Galadriel can figure out what to do with her."

  
  


Arwen took charge. "Right. Gimli, take the hobbits and Trish. Go to the JFK and wait. Legolas and I will go pick up Adam and meet you there."

  
  


I watched as Gimli drove into the waking city with four rockers and eight-year-old in tow. Trish was installed in Mark's lap in the passenger seat; the ex-hobbit wore the expression of one who is supremely uncomfortable, but struggling to hide it. 

  
  


Arwen turned to me. "Let's go get my dumbass partner so we can get the hell out of this city."

  
  


I nodded vigorously; I'd had quite enough of this magic-sinkhole, mage-infested city to last me quite a while.

  
  


And when you're immortal, that's saying something. 


	33. Trust

Author's Note: Hey everybody! Our Muses are back! The other two Nightrunners had a most excellent time in Toronto, and they got to see the huge Two Towers Exhibit at the Royal Ontario Museum. Jai and Dru intended to, ahem, *borrow* several items to give to their dear reviewers, among them Eowyn's dress, Arwen's tiara, Legolas's bow, Gimli's throwing axe, and the Witch-King's gauntlets. However, the nasty alarm started to blare, and the mean old security guards chased the intrepid Nightrunners away. Eirual was crushed; she wanted Aragorn's ring, the one with the snakes and emeralds. Oh well...

  
  


For those who want to know, *all* major LotR players will be making an appearance in this fic, and we do mean all. So don't worry. On the other hand, in spite of a disappointing lack of LotR jewelry, only 6 days 'till The Two Towers. All three Nightrunners bounce for joy at the fact that they have tickets for opening night. Enjoy the fic. 

  
  
  
  


Trust

  
  


Soundtrack: Last Beautiful Girl (Matchbox 20)

This will all fall down like everything else that was  
This too shall pass and all of the words we said  
We can't take back  
  
Now every fool in town would've left by now  
I can't replace all the wasted days  
The memory of your face - can't help thinkin'  
  
Maybe if we ever coulda kept it all together  
Where would we be  
A thousand lost forevers  
And the promises you never were giving me  
Here's what I'm thinking  
  
It won't be the first - heart that you break  
It won't be the last - beautiful girl  
The one that you wrecked - won't take you back  
If you were the last beautiful girl in the world  
  
Tell me one more time  
How you're sorry about the way  
This all went down - you needed to find your space  
You needed to still be friends  
Needed me to  
Call you if I ever couldn't keep it all together  
you'd comfort me  
Tell me but forever  
And the promises I never should have believed in  
Here's what I'm thinking  
  
It won't be the first - heart that you break  
It won't be the last - beautiful girl  
The one that you wrecked - won't take you back  
If you were the last beautiful girl in the world  
  
It's over now - And I've gone without  
Cuz you're everybody else's girl  
It seems to me - you'll always be  
Everyone else's girl  
  
This will all fall down  
Like everything in the world  
This too must end  
And everything else that was  
We can't take back

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Adam was puttering about his apartment. He was still very confused about many of the things that had happened to him over the last several days. However, as checking himself into a mental institute wasn't an option, he was resorting to housework to take the place of heavy-duty drugs. 

  
  


Sleep wasn't an option either. Adam was prepared to swear that the loony with the pointed ears had given him something more than just a sedative. The narcotics-prompting-insanity theory, however, didn't fit the facts. Adam didn't know of any hard drugs that could *possibly* last this long.

  
  


With a sigh, Adam returned to his domestic drudgery. 

//Milk and Cheerios should *not* leave traces of chocolate, icing sugar, and what appears to be congealed gelatin on my counter.//

  
  


Resigning himself to the fact that Mark *had* probably conducted several nuclear experiments in his kitchen, Adam wandered into the hall. The message light on his phone was blinking.

  
  


//Have I gone to work in the past few days?//

  
  


Pushing the play button, he allowed to the irate recorded voices to flow past his ears, and hopefully connect to his brain.

  
  


//Apparently *not*.// 

  
  


The sound of a gun cocking quickly got his attention.

//Oh shit.//

  
  


" I thought you were going to *fix* that alarm. Very sloppy, Officer Gordon. I would have thought a policeman would be more on his guard."

  
  


Alice sounded rather irritated. Not that this was uncommon for her, there was a new edge in her voice. Almost as if she had actually been *worried* about him.

  
  


//Not bloody likely...//

  
  


" Hello Alice. Feeling better? I'm glad to see you're using a gun this time. It's *so* much less painful than being beaten off the wall." Adam would gladly die for Alice; however, being horribly mangled while she was suffering from über-PMS was not high on his list of 'Things to Do'... again.

  
  


" Adam, we really don't have time for this. Just listen to me, please."

  
  


An irrational thought beckoned to Adam through the haze of too many headache pills. 

  
  


// Tell her that you love her. You'll probably never have another chance. She'll be beating you off the walls again before you know it.//

  
  


Adam tried to squelch the errant thought, and pay attention to Alice at the same time.

  
  


" Adam, do you trust me? I mean *really* trust me ?"

  
  


" Of course. Alice... I love you."

  
  


The odd look on her face prompted a thought to surface in Adam's slowly clearing brain.

  
  


//Ooopps..//

  
  


" That wasn't the question. Never mind that now. Grab some clothes and your gun. We have to leave."

  
  


"But I have to call in to work. The Captain threatened to draw and quarter me if I didn't report to her by the end of the day..."

  
  


In the time it had taken Adam to splutter this out, Alice had managed to stuff several necessary items into a pack.

  
  


"Never mind that, you can call her from the airport."

"*Airport*!?!?"

Alice didn't bother to reply. She merely shoved him out the door, and banged it shut behind them.

******

  
  


I sat in the passenger seat of the 'borrowed' car, fingers tapping idly on the dashboard. Curling my hands into fists, I sighed in frustration. I didn't like this situation, not one bit; running out blind, without a clue about what was going on. Definitely not my style.

  
  


The sun had risen, banishing all but the most stubborn wisps of pre-dawn fog. All around, I could hear the hushed roar of a waking city, people driving, distant horns blaring. The chemical stench of burning gasoline mixed with the piquant bouquet of last week's trash. I wrinkled my nose. Ugh. Garbage day.

  
  


All these wandering people, yet no sign of the two mortals I needed to ship out of the city. I'd almost resigned myself to going in after them when the building's door swung open, disgorging one annoyed Alice Starr, and one disgruntled Adam Gordon. How lovely. This was going to be a looooooong drive...

  
  


Alice opened the driver's door, and threw a canvas knapsack into the back. It fell with an anticlimactic *thud*. She folded her long legs in front of the seat, smacking the rearview mirror when it refused to move. Behind me, Adam was perched in the tiny backseat, looking like he'd been hauled out of bed six hours shy of a good night's sleep. Which was odd, considering how much time he'd spent unconscious in the past few days.

  
  


He also looked as though he had too much on his mind, and didn't have enough time left in his life to contemplate every thought spinning in his head. I sighed; poor mortal, I wondered if I'd ever see Aragorn again. At the very least, Adam Gordon was going to need a few dozen years of serious therapy to recover from this week.

  
  


He broke the silence abruptly. "So...who's going to tell me what the *hell* is going on?"

  
  


I exchanged glances with Arwen. Her expression spoke volumes: //You tell him, or so help me, I'll run this car into oncoming traffic.//

  
  


Oh, joy. "Adam Gordon," I began tiredly. This had gotten old. "You are not going to believe a *word* that I say, but I'll tell you anyway. We must leave the city as soon as possible, because we are rather deep in shit. You see, we've possibly got nine undead super-powered women coming after us with the burning desire to blow us all to kingdom come. Does *that* answer your question?" 

  
  


I caught a flash of his glare in the mirror. If looks could kill...

  
  


"No, it actually doesn't."

  
  


I could *hear* Arwen gritting her teeth; love him she might, but apparently his lack of memories was starting to grate on her nerves. She inhaled deeply, then spoke. I was surprised by her tone of voice; she sounded almost...plaintive. "Adam...you said you loved me. You said you trusted me. Please, Adam. Just...sit. Stop asking questions, because you won't believe me, or Legolas. This is not good for anyone's mental state, particularly your own. We can talk later. We'll talk on the plane."

  
  


"Plane?"

  
  


Somehow, I had the idea that nothing was registering in Adam Gordon's brain today. I flashed my best smile over my shoulder; it probably didn't reassure him in the least. "We're going to the White City. Isn't that *nice*?"

  
  


I could *see* the blood draining from Adam's face. "Well, ladies and gentlemen," he whispered, "The wayward prince returns."

  
  


"Pardon?" Wasn't *this* interesting?

  
  


"I'm going home."


	34. Are We There Yet

Authors' Note: A couple of questions have to be answered before we let you move onto the story. No we don't live in Ontario. We live in Newfoundland. Trish will be explained eventually. Boromir will show up, have patience please. Hurray for all of those who are dressing up for opening night too by the way. We all have very pretty elf dresses that Eirual's mum made for us. Also, we are aware that this is a very short chapter. The one on Thursday should be longer.

The Nightrunners.  
  


Are We There Yet?  
  


Soundtrack: It's Only Me (The Wizard of Magicland) (Barenaked Ladies)   
  


Speaking as a guy who's really got it going on 

It's only natural 

It's only me 

Take it from a fella 

Who's been round the block so many times 

He knows the only parking spot that's free 

It's only me 

You can say I've tried everything 

I'd save on a wedding ring 

Who knows me half as well as me? 

I'm not antisocial and it's nothing that's reproachful 

It's just natural 

It's only me 

I can't think of anybody else 

I'd rather spend some one on one time with 

It's not that hard to see 

It's only me 

I'm the me in monogamy 

I'm not asking a lot of me 

I give me R E S P E C T 

And if your heart is broken 

You can just do what you do best 

You can just do what you do 

When your heart is broken 

Trust in the one who will love you 

Never put others above you 

I thought I was using me to get to you 

But this is too unnatural 

It's only me 

They say you'll never love another till you love yourself 

Well brother, I'm in love with everyone I see 

It's only me 

You can say I've tried everything 

I'd save on a wedding ring 

Who knows me half as well as me? 

I believe in monogamy 

I'm not asking a lot of me 

I give me R E S P E C T   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The hobbits had their groove on. They were running through a preconceived dance routine, perfectly in-sync, which was pretty impressive considering they were crammed in a compact car wrapped in several layers of safety belts.  
  


Gimli gritted his teeth; rap was not his idea of good music. Unfortunately, none of the four had been taking requests. Glancing in the rearview mirror, he saw them exchange glances, then they launched into a new rap fragment:  
  


"The road goes ever on and on,

Down from the door where it began

Now far ahead the road has gone

And I must follow, if I can,

Pursuing it with weary feet,

Until it joins some larger way,

Where many paths and errands meet.

And wither then? I cannot say."  
  


Despite the quick rhythm of the words, Gabe caught most of this latest work. "Oh my God. Tell me you did not just try to *rap* Bilbo's walking song!"  
  


Mark shrugged, or shrugged as best he could, considering he still had an eight-year-old on his lap. "Fine. We did not just try to rap Bilbo's walking song."  
  


Felix grinned at his companions. "I think it has definite potential. Do you think the old guy would mind if we did a cover of it?"  
  


The others laughed and Gabe groaned. Trying to drive in New York's rush-hour traffic was difficult. Trying to drive with four irrepressible, singing and dancing hobbits in rush hour traffic was very nearly impossible. He had accomplished some difficult missions working for the government, but this stupid drive to the airport seemed even harder.  
  


Sam craned his neck to look up into the front seat. "Hey, Gimli?"  
  


Gabe spared him a glance. "Yeah?"  
  


"How'd you do that trick with the magic, anyway? That psycho mage-bitch hammered you with a pretty strong spell."  
  


The university professor sighed, fixing his glasses. "I have a genetic resistance to magic," he explained. "Any kind of spell aimed at me has really unpredictable results."  
  


Felix nodded, eyes wide. "I've heard of that. 'Magic-proof' people. But isn't that really rare?"

Gabe nodded. "Just lucky, I guess," he replied, his voice wry. "But, looking at it now, it could be the whole dwarven heritage thing. Durin's folk always were resistant to dark magic. Now it just seems to extend to all spells, curses, charms, and whatever."  
  


"I always thought that a spell would just go nuts when it hit a magic-proof person, though," Felix said thoughtfully. "I've never heard of anything like that, a spell actually rebounding off a person to hit the caster."  
  


The ex-dwarf looked at him sharply, then answered: "Yeah, well, it does stuff like that sometimes. I'm not complaining, mind you. It's gotten me out of some pretty tough situations."   
  


The reply seemed evasive to the hobbits, but something in his tone warned them not to pry. They glanced amongst themselves, and reaching a collective decision; let the matter drop. They went back to singing, perhaps a bit more subdued than before.  
  


Forgotten by the others, Trish watched the scholarly fighter for a long time after the discussion ended. 


	35. Webs of Treachery, Deceit and Outright L...

Authors' Note: Hurray for the Two Towers, and boo for snow storms. The three intrepid authors and one beta managed to get to the movie, but didn't get to wear their pretty dresses, as St.John's is in the grips of a bloody awful snowstorm. Our two beta's and Eirual's Mum make cameos in this chapter. So does Sun Queen and Ivory Moon's Mum.

Enjoy the chapter, and the next up-date is on Sunday.

The Nightrunners

  
  


Webs of Treachery, Deceit and Outright Lies

  
  


Soundtrack: Before I'm Dead (Kidney Thieves)

  
  


Moon hangs around   
A blade over my head  
Reminds me what to do before I'm dead   
Night consumes light   
And all I dread   
Reminds me what to do before I'm dead   
  
The sun reclines  
Eats my mind  
Reminds me what to leave behind  
Light eats night   
And all I never said  
Reminds me what to do before I''m……  
  
To see you   
To touch you   
To see you  
To touch you  
  
Epochs fly, reminds me   
What I hide, reminds me   
The desert skies   
Cracks the spies   
Reminds me what I never tried   
The ocean wide salted red   
Reminds me what to do before I''m……   
  
To see you   
To touch you   
To feel you   
To tell you   
  
The sun reclines - remind me   
The desert skies - remind me   
The ocean wide salted red   
Reminds me what to do before I''m……  


  
  
  
  
  
  


The John F. Kennedy International Airport was huge. I'd been there once, but it had been decades before the war, when a girl and I had once spent a weekend in New York. Her name was Pauline. She had red hair and a nice laugh. She's probably dead now.

  
  


So there I was, hurrying through the press of people, the two cops following close. The voices of the multitudes rose and filled the massive marble-tiled room, punctuated occasionally by the low, static rumble of the loudspeaker. Huge newscreens constantly flashed bytes of glowing red information: Flight 34509 to London from Gate 124 delayed by 50 minutes due to technical problems, Flight 78493 to Bangkok from Gate 72 now boarding... High overhead, morning sunlight streamed through the arched atrium windows.

  
  


"Your attention please." A woman's bland voice called over the general noise; the loudspeaker system crackled with static. More work for the electricians today. "All flights to and from Pearson International Airport, Toronto, are cancelled until further notice due to a rogue mage attack. If you'd care to make an alternate booking, please see your nearest ticket agent."

  
  


"Look." Alice nudged my shoulder. "Gabe, the hobbits, and the little stowaway. Next to the security guard, two o'clock."

  
  


The ex-dwarf appeared to be having a rather spirited discussion with an agitated security guard. I broke into a run, waving Adam and Alice to follow; this had the potential to get messy.

  
  


As we approached, I caught the gist of the conversation: "...Mr. Gleason...weapons...regulations!"

  
  


Gabe's reply, which I didn't catch, was quite probably obscene. 

  
  


Before I had a chance to open my mouth, Adam stepped in. In his jeans and leather bomber jacket he looked pretty ordinary, but his demeanor screamed 'officer-of-the-law: obey-or-die'. "Is there a problem, sir?" he asked smoothly.

  
  


The security guard had started to splutter. "The *problem*, sir, is that Mister Gleason here is carrying an arsenal of *highly* illegal weaponry, as are his travelling companions! This will *have* to confiscated, and you'll be escorted to speak with the head of security--"

  
  


Adam interrupted "That will *not* be necessary, Mister..." he checked the man's name tag, "...Clifford. This is Professor Gleason, a highly-respected weapons research scientist. He will be travelling to Washington, D.C today on a private flight. Pentagon business." Adam's voice dropped slightly, becoming steely. He flashed his badge. "Adam Gordon, NYPD. My partner and I will be escorting Professor Gleason, along with his daughter, his research assistant Dr. Green, and his bodyguards."

  
  


Somehow, I managed to keep a straight face. Behind Gabe, the four rockers straightened and adopted the scowls they'd often seen on the faces of club bouncers. 

Adam smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. In fact, it looked downright predatory. "Now, Mister Clifford, I honestly don't want to have to drag your supervisor into this mess. Professor Gleason is already late, and any more delays will reflect poorly on this airport's security force." Suddenly, Adam's voice warmed, his smile becoming somewhat more charming. "I know that you're just doing your job, and I commend you for it. This city needs more security workers as conscientious as you. But your job is to stop those who are here to cause trouble, not government professionals."

  
  


Trish picked this moment to add her own two cents. Looking like a bored child who'd been tuning in and out of the conversation, she started pulling on her *dad's* arm. "C'mon, Daddy, I want to go! We're gonna be *late*!" She stared up with teary eyes.

  
  


Woah. This kid was *good*.

  
  


The security guard looked torn. It suddenly occurred to me that Gabe probably didn't *have* permits for any of his 'highly illegal weapons'. "Well...okay, go on. I'm sorry to have bothered you, sir." He tried a smile. "Make sure you present your weapon permits at the security checkpoints."

  
  


"Of course." Adam smiled back. "These have to be packed and prepared for transport, anyway."

  
  


The hobbits scowled and Trish flashed a beaming grin. "Bye!"

  
  


As we moved away, I caught up to Adam. "That was an amazing performance. You actually came up with a credible reason for carrying enough weaponry to occupy a small European country."

  
  


Adam grimaced. "Well, I've already come to the conclusion that you're all mad, so I figure, hey, what the hell, when in Rome..."

  
  


He trailed off. A look of horror suddenly crossed his face. "What's the matter?" I asked.

  
  


"I haven't called my boss yet."

  
  


I left him to formulate another story for his captain. I walked up to Gimli, and asked, sotto voce, "Gabe...are you actually *licensed* to carry any of this?"

  
  


"Well..." Gimli switched to what I immediately recognized as 'evasive mode'. Shit. "Technically, yes, but all my permits are sealed and classified and buried under a small mountain of red tape. If I tried to use any of them, it would set off a quite a few screaming alarms, which would draw a rather *large* amount of unwanted attention, and that would be *bad*, wouldn't it?"

  
  


"Gabe...what exactly have you been *doing* for the past fifteen years?"

  
  


Gimli opened his mouth to answer, but I cut him off. "Never mind. I *really* don't want to know."

  
  


We rode two escalators to the open, higher levels. Up here, the marble floor became cheaper, worn tile, but the sunlight was dazzling. Hundreds of people flowed past us, running, walking, shouting, carting baggage, talking to each other and to their cell phones.

  
  


Our little group ducked into the shelter of a large pillar. Momentarily free of the crush of people, Adam, Alice, and the hobbits quickly rearranged their weaponry. I had to hand it to them, they demonstrated remarkable comprehension of human nature. Displaying weapons openly in belt and shoulder holsters, they presented the image of people who were *supposed* to be carrying assorted guns and knives. Try to hide it, and the security guards would be on us like a pack of wargs.

  
  


I tucked my gun into the inside pocket of my coat, motioning Gabe to do the same. After all, it wouldn't do to have Professor Gleason and 'Dr. Green' sporting nasty-looking automatics.

  
  


Well, not in obvious places, at least...

  
  


Behind me, Adam leaned against the pillar and took a deep breath. The hobbits turned and watched in amusement as he dialed his cell phone and held it to his ear. I heard a tiny voice answer at the other end. "NYPD Precinct One-One-One, can I help you?"

  
  


"Brenda, hey, it's Adam. Punch me through to the captain, please."

  
  


"Adam?" I heard laughter crackling at the other end. "Are you sure you want me to do that? You're definitely in the doghouse, Officer Gordon. At least your partner took sick leave. The captain's ready to rip you apart. She's had the Seers trying to get a read on you. I think they mistook you for your neighbour's cat, 'cause you were apparently out back of your building, ripping up the dumpster."

  
  


I watched Adam smile. It looked painful. "Brenda, darling, just punch me through, okay? I have to talk to the captain, it's kind of important."

  
  


"Will do, Adam. Send me an invite to your funeral, and make sure you provide finger sandwiches, ok?"

  
  


The line beeped rhythmically, then a no-nonsense female voice answered. 

  
  


"Yes?"

  
  


Ooh. Good luck charming *this* one, Officer Gordon. 

"Hello, Captain." Adam looked a bit twitchy, but you couldn't tell from his voice. Smooth. 

  
  


"Gordon?! Where the*hell* have you been?! You don't show up for your shifts, you don't call, you don't answer the phone, your apartment's empty---"

  
  


This little diatribe continued for some time. Adam winced occasionally as certain words were punctuated by an octave jump. "Well, I've been at Alice's apartment---"

  
  


The look of horror that dawned on every face suddenly made Adam realize exactly how *that* little comment might be construed. He jumped back into the conversation. "I've been sick. Really sick, and my apartment's being fumigated, so Starr let me stay with her--"

  
  


Beside him, Mark was miming a shovelling motion. Sam smacked him upside the head.

  
  


"Sick?" The voice was suspicious. I was beginning to think Adam and Alice's captain had missed her true calling as an elementary school teacher.

  
  


Adam summoned a decent-sounding cough. "Yeah, I meant to call, but I've spent most of my time out cold in bed..."

  
  


Well, *that* was certainly true. Adam could apparently lie like a champion when he put his mind to it.

  
  


The suspicion was starting to dissolve into concern. "Have you been to the med clinic?"

  
  


"Yeah, I'm fine, it's just a mild case of..." Adam appeared to be wracking his brain. He threw us a desperate glance.

  
  


"Syphilis!" interjected Peter.

  
  


"Syphilis." Adam repeated, his expression switching to one of dismay when he realized *exactly* what he had said. Beside me, Arwen looked as though she would die laughing; she had her fist lodged in her mouth, and was wheezing with suppressed mirth.

  
  


"What about scurvy?" suggested Felix.

  
  


Adam threw them a death glare as the voice at the other end said, "*What?!*"

  
  


Well, this was certainly one of the more entertaining conversations I'd ever heard.

  
  


"Sorry, I meant viral flu." said Adam, still looking as though he wanted to throw the phone away and strangle Pippin. "The doc gave me some painkillers. I'm a bit loopy."

  
  


"Oh, okay." The captain didn't quite sound convinced. "Well, take a few days off, and call in when you're feeling better."

  
  


"Thanks captain. I'm really sorry I didn't call."

  
  


"It's okay, Adam. I'll assign Duggan and Dunsmore your case files for the next week or so. You and Alice both sound like you'll be out for a while."

  
  


"Yeah," Adam said, throwing a grin at his partner. "She needs the downtime as much as I do."

  
  


"Alright, Adam." I noticed the voice had mellowed considerably. "I'll talk to you later. Hope you feel better soon."

  
  


"Later, captain." Adam snapped the phone shut, and Alice collapsed on the floor, shaking with laughter.

  
  


Adam hooked an arm through hers and pulled her to her feet. She hung off his shoulders, tears streaming down her face. "Syphilis!" she managed to say, which sent her into another round of laughter. The ex-hobbits looked as though they'd explode, but were obviously reluctant as Adam's expression was shifting into homicidal.

  
  


Still laughing, we moved out from behind the pillar, headed towards Gate 54. Perhaps it was the general merriment that allowed them to creep up on us...

  
  


************

  
  


The lights, high overhead, suddenly began to flicker irregularly. With all the natural light, I didn't notice until- 

  
  


"Gabe! Behind you!"

  
  


Almost too fast to follow, he whipped around, drawing his gun as he did so. His eyes widened as he realized exactly what I had warned him of.

  
  


"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Trish said calmly. A ball of murderous-looking black energy hovered above her palm. She gestured at Felix and the loathsome magic ball roiled ever-so-slightly towards him. "Drop your gun, Gimli son of Gloin. You fire, and your friend dies." 

  
  


  
  
  
  



	36. Gate FiftyFour

Gate Fifty-Four

  
  


Authors' note: Hey everyone. The last chapter of Brothers in Arms, part one. Check the note after this chapter for details about future updates, thanks, and other stuff. The soundtrack to this chapter provided the title to the fic, and is one of Dru's all-time favourite songs. If you have it on hand, listen to it, it's very LotR-themed. Enjoy.

  
  


Soundtrack: Brothers In Arms (Dire Straits)

  
  


These mist-covered mountains

Are a home now for me

But my home is the lowlands

And always will be

Some day you'll return to

Your valleys and your farms

And you'll no longer burn

To be brothers in arms.

  
  


Through these fields of destruction

Baptism of fire

I've watched all your suffering

As the battles raged higher

And though they did hurt me so bad

In the fear and alarm

You did not desert me

My brothers in arms

  
  


There's so many different worlds

So many different suns

And we have just one world

But we live in different ones

  
  


Now the sun's gone to hell

And the moon's riding high

Let me bid you farewell

Every man has to die

But it's written in the starlight

And every line on your palm

We're fools to make war

On our brothers in arms.

  
  
  
  


Felix froze. His eyes had widened just a tiny bit, but otherwise he didn't twitch. A few feet away, Sam's hand had stopped dead, two inches away from his knife.

  
  


The rest of the group had halted in similar attitudes; Adam's hand had reached his gun, but he slowly eased it away. The automatic remained at his hip.

  
  


Peter was the first to speak. "Why?" he said, disbelief and pain warring in his voice. "What the hell are you doing, Trish?"

  
  


"I should have thought it was rather obvious," the little girl stated matter-of-factly. The ball of energy pulsed, and grew larger. "First, I'm going to kill him. Then-" she smiled sweetly to the rest of us, "-You're all going to die."

  
  


Arwen stiffened. Slowly, slowly, she straightened and turned. I followed suit.

  
  


The whole level had nearly cleared out. Frightened people were cramming themselves onto the escalators, heading away from us as fast as they could without running. With good reason.

  
  


Eight women had surrounded us. Some were middle-aged, some were young, some were carrying weapons, some were charging spells, but they all shared one trait. They all looked pissed.

  
  


Behind them was a line of mages. They all positively reeked of magic and Flight, many of them practically drooling for battle.

  
  


"Who the hell are you?" whispered Mark.

  
  


Trish laughed, and the eight women laughed with her. There was nothing innocent or childlike about it. It was a sound full of needles and decay, and of dark places where the sun never shone. Her eyes had begun to glow with an inner fire that was unique in that it seemed to be *dark* light.

"Oh, gods." I whispered, as everything became clear. "The Nine."

  
  


Arwen closed her eyes, a shudder running down her spine. "She's the Witch-King."

  
  


"Very clever, little Elves." said Trish. She cocked her head in a surprisingly human fashion. "Actually, I prefer Witch-Queen."

  
  


Her ball of black miasma crept closer to Felix's face. I had to credit him, the kid had to be scared out of his mind, but it never showed on his face. He just narrowed his eyes, waiting, waiting...

  
  


"Hey! Hey you! Drop your weapons!"

  
  


It was Clifford the Security Guy, and he had backup. A dozen security guards charged over the lip of the escalator, spilling onto the landing with their guns drawn.

  
  


Trish's head snapped towards them for a critical instant. Less than half a second, but it gave Felix the time he needed. While her attention was distracted, he snapped a kick into her ribs and knocked her off balance. She fired the spell, but Alice shot an arc of crackling lightning that intercepted the miasma and dispersed it. Felix rolled away, coming to his feet between Sam and Gimli, who'd drawn the weapons and dropped into combat stances.

  
  


Trish narrowed her eyes. "You want to do this the hard way? Fine."

  
  


She opened her mouth wider than I'd have believed possible, and *screamed*. It was high-pitched, bone-chilling, unearthly; the sound that had the power to triple my heart rate in the space of five seconds.

  
  


The cry of the Nazgul.

  
  


The mages and Ringwraiths echoed her scream, and charged in.

  
  


Oh *shit*.

  
  


The security guards were suddenly overwhelmed by a hoard of psychotic mages. I felt a pang of grief for the poor men and women who were just doing their jobs, then I turned to face the oncoming tide.

  
  


My knives flew in a blur, slashing and stabbing the first mage to reach me. Blood flashed in the sunlight, but I had no time to pause to appreciate the artistry of the kill. I locked my arm around his neck, and threw him over the rail.

  
  


He screamed all the way down.

  
  


Suddenly, my throat closed up. I gasped, trying to suck air into my lungs. Swinging around, I spotted one of the Nazgul women. This one had curly brown hair and a rather pretty face. Too bad she was trying to kill me...

  
  


She curled her fist tighter, and flexed her arm. A strangulation spell; I felt my throat wrench, and darkness began to creep into the edges of my vision. I forced one hand into the inner pocket of my duster, drawing the gun Gabe had given me. 

  
  


The Nazgul's eyes widened, and she raised her other hand, casting another spell. Too late. One shot caught her in the stomach, the next through the heart. She crumpled to the ground, and suddenly, I could breathe again.

**********

  
  


The four ex-hobbits had mobilized as a group. Back to back, they were fighting tooth, claw, gun, and knife. Sam stabbed one mage and knocked him sprawling, as Mark slammed the butt of his gun into another's temple. Peter kicked the stunned man and sent him tumbling head over heels down the escalator.

  
  


Then three Nazgul dropped on them like giant spiders.

  
  


Adam found himself cornered, four mages having backed him up against a pillar. His gun had suddenly become more useful as a blunt object; lack of ammo will do that to an automatic weapon. Pupil-less and grinning, the mages looked more like demons than humans. One, a woman, kept flicking her fingers and stinging him with tiny sparks.

  
  


"Oooh," she purred, her lips curled back lasciviously. "I like this one. Can we play with him?"

  
  


In response, Adam slugged her. 

  
  


She reeled back, clutching her wounded jaw. Brass knuckles were not considered approved weapons among the NYPD, but Adam had never been a real stickler for regulations anyway.

  
  


One of the other mages growled, a fireball springing to life around his fist. "You are going to regret that."

  
  


He moved in to fire, but Adam moved first. Catching the mage around the midsection, he flattened him to the ground and dodged as the others shot fireballs and a lightning bolt his way. The spells pumped into their unfortunate companion, wh twitched and jerked as the magic electrified his body.

  
  


Adam rolled to his feet, out in the open once more. Mages were sloppy fighters; their minds buzzing on black magic and Flight, they were rarely able to form coherent battle plans. Even when they did, the heat of battle tended to make them unravel.

  
  


The female mage had regained her equilibrium and was charging a spell. Suddenly, a blast of wind sent her flying into the wall, smashing her hard enough to make the world spin for quite a while.

  
  


Alice drifted to the ground beside him, tossing Adam her gun. "Want this?" she asked, her mouth stretched into a wide grin. Her eyes were solid blue, and her black curls were windblown. The witch-cop was in her element, and, despite the danger, was loving every second of it.

  
  


"Thanks." Adam answered, spraying the mages with suppressing fire. Some dodged, but a Nazgul charged into the fray, using her powers to freeze the bullets in midair.

  
  


Alice knocked her away with a lightning spell, and another shot rang out, this one from above. Adam flicked his gaze upward for an instant, spotting a familiar head vanishing over the railing. Gabe.

  
  


The older man had managed to climb one level higher, and was sniping every time he had a clear shot. As Adam watched, the older man took aim and took out another mage. 

  
  


Farther away, the four rockers yelled, trying to shake off the Nazgul who'd dropped on them. These women didn't seem to have magic, and were single-mindedly trying to get a grip on their throats. Peter managed to grab one woman's hair, hauling her over his head. She hit the ground, cursing in Black Speech. Peter swore right back in the South Farthing dialect, and kicked her in the ribs.

  
  


Mark was less lucky. His Nazgul, a massively built, dark-complected woman, had gotten an iron grip around his neck. Being unable to shake her off, and rapidly running out of air, Mark did the only sensible thing he could think of. He bent and bull-charged the marble pillar, smacking both of their heads against the solid stone. It knocked the Nazgul loose, but it didn't do Mark much good, either. They both hit the ground, unconscious.

  
  


Felix, in the meantime, had hauled the last Nazgul off Sam, who sucked in a deep breath, shaking his head to clear the darkness.

  
  


"Gee, isn't this fun?" Peter deadpanned, dragging the unconscious Mark away from the fray. "I'd forgotten how much I enjoy this."

  
  


**********

  
  


The tide had begun to turn in our favour. I'd emptied my gun, dropping the mages. You didn't shoot to kill a mage; if they died, their energy was going to hit you hard enough to take you out the fight for quite a while.

  
  


Some of the mages had begun leaping up to the level above us. My eyes narrowed as I tracked a red and black blur upwards. Trish, our little Witch-Queen.

  
  


"Alice!" I yelled over the noise of the fight. "Give me a levitation spell. Now!"

  
  


"Got it." A quick flick of her hand had me rising into the air, eight, ten, twelve feet above the battle. I snagged the railing of the top level, and pulled myself over. 

  
  


**********

  
  


As Alice's attention was focussed on the levitation spell, Adam caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. A mage, ready to cast, lining up his sights on Alice...

  
  


Adam didn't even think. He sprinted towards the mage, grabbed the man's head, and *twisted*.

  
  


The sharp crack of snapping vertebrae was quite loud.

  
  


The mage crumpled. Dead.

  
  


Adam's eyes widened. "Crap." he whispered. 

  
  


**********

  
  


I swung over the railing just as the effects of the levitation spell faded. I hit the floor somewhat louder than I'd intended, but no one noticed me. Trish, the Nazgul who'd regrouped, and the mages who'd retreated up here were converging towards a single individual some distance away. Gabe.

  
  


They'd crowded him back against a glass wall. Earlier, he'd been sniping from the railed area, but some mages had cornered him against one of the glass observation windows that looked out over the open atrium of the airport. Through the glass, you could see crowds milling about on the various levels, and the marble departures lobby three stories below.

  
  


Gabe, however, was putting up one hell of a fight. As one mage darted towards him, he dropped to the floor, and swung his leg, catching the unfortunate attacker by the ankles and sending him stumbling. Then, moving so quickly it was almost a blur, he retracted his leg and caught the man with a solid kick in the stomach. The mage flew backwards, knocking several others to the ground.

  
  


I stalked up behind them, as quickly and as quietly as I could. They'd obviously realized any spells they sent at Gimli went ricocheting in all directions, but some stupid mages, inflamed from the battle, still couldn't resist. This was definitely adding to the general carnage.

  
  


One of the brighter sparks threw a knife, which Gimli slapped away, open- palmed. I saw him grimace, and I saw blood flash. Damn, his situation had suddenly gotten precarious.

  
  


Then Trish stepped forward. 

  
  


She cooly aimed an automatic at his head; the gun looked huge in her tiny hand. Behind her, two other Nazgul followed suit. 

"Sorry, dwarf, it's nothing personal." Then she smiled. "Oh, wait. Actually, it is."

  
  


That did it.

  
  


I had no choice. This Witch-Queen, this demon in the guise of a little girl, she would kill Gabe, she would kill me, she would kill us all. She had to be stopped.

  
  


Unfortunately, there was no time for planning or finesse. Abandoning any pretense of stealth, I sprinted towards the ranks of mages, planted my hands on one startled man's shoulders, and flipped over their heads. Dropping in front of the magic-users, I shoved one Nazgul out of my path; Trish's head began to turn, a fraction of an instant too late. 

  
  


It turns out that a child-turned-Witch-Queen cannot fire a gun as fast as an elf can pounce. I plowed into her and we both smashed through the window, into the open air beyond.

  
  


We seemed to hang in space for an eternity, then my fingers latched onto her throat and arm. I heard her scream, a soul-chilling shriek, and then we were falling.

  
  


**********

  
  


Alice caught a blur of movement overhead. Her head snapped around as she heard a Nazgul scream, approaching at what seemed frighteningly close to the speed of gravity. Throwing herself towards the rail, she instinctively cast a levitation charm.

  
  


Nothing. No familiar buzzing, nerve-tingling charge that came from spellcasting. Not even a twitch. She was tapped out. Exhausted. Her personal magic well had run dry.

  
  


"Fuck." she whispered, falling to her knees as Legolas tumbled past, his black duster tangling around his legs, fingers still wrapped around the little Witch-Queen's throat. 

  
  


Hitting water from a height of twenty metres after jumping from a burning helicopter is somewhat survivable. Smashing your head off a marble pillar to knock out an adversary is a good way to concuss yourself, but certainly isn't fatal. However, landing on a stone floor after throwing yourself through a glass window three stories overhead is an excellent way to kill yourself.

**********

  
  


Alice was the first one to reach the main level lobby. The entire area was deserted, the general population being smart enough to head for the exits when spells started flying.

  
  


The rest of the Fellowship was somewhere behind her, not being as quick as the witch. This was only natural as the men were limited to running down escalators, not being able to vault over railings, level by level. Arwen was running on the last dregs of magic in her system, barely able to slow her fall enough to avoid breaking her ankles each time she landed.

  
  


She finally hit the floor of the lobby, crumpling to the ground as her legs gave out. Shoving herself up with her elbows, she crawled over to where Legolas was sprawled in a sticky red pool. Shards of glass ground into her palms and shins, and blood began to well from some shallow-to-mildly-serious cuts.

  
  


Arwen collapsed next to the blond elf, wincing in pain and sympathy, trying to assess his injuries. His breathing was rapid and shallow; he coughed, and blood sprayed from his mouth in a fine mist. His right arm and shoulder were twisted at an unnatural angle, and most of his ribs looked as though he'd caught a giant hammer-blow to the side; they had folded inward, indicating definite damage to lungs and other internal organs.

  
  


His lips had turned blue, and his skin was cold. He was going into shock.

  
  


It was obvious that Legolas had managed to land atop Trish and roll, taking the full brunt of his impact on his shoulder and side. His neck and skull seemed intact, but nothing else had been spared. Arwen yanked his shirt over his stomach and chest, gently probing the ugly black bruises. Internal bleeding, and a lot of it.

  
  


Trish herself was lying in a mangled heap several yards away, a tangle of red serge and black velvet and long black hair. There wasn't much left that was recognizable as human.

  
  


"Oh, Christ." whispered Arwen, struggling out of her scarf and jacket. As she leaned over his face, Legolas's eyes fluttered open. He tried to speak, but couldn't seem to force a sound past his lips. Arwen held his head steady as he breathed as deeply as he dared. Blood bubbled past his lips, but he finally managed to talk.

  
  


"Arwen?"

  
  


"It's okay, she's down, she didn't kill anyone. You got her."

  
  


"She won't stay down..."

  
  


"I know, we've got to go. The mages are withdrawing, but we won't have long. Can you walk?"

  
  


A strangled sound that might have been a laugh. "Stupid question."

  
  


Arwen tried to grin. "I guess so. Hang on, okay?"

  
  


"Good plan..."

  
  


Legolas's breath caught suddenly, and he began to choke. Arwen rolled him onto his side and waited until he could breathe again. He was slipping away; his eyes were rolling back into his head and his breathing was growing shallower.

  
  


"Shit, Legolas. Stay with me, you pointy-eared son of a bitch. Don't you dare die and leave us to do this alone."

  
  


His eyes fluttered one more time and he managed to choke out one more phrase. "Glorfindel said White City Enterprises, in Paris...be careful." 

  
  


Arwen squeezed his hand and felt a tear run down her cheek. She had absolutely no talent for healing spells; even if she did, there wasn't a drop of magical charge left in her. There was nothing she could to ease his pain.

  
  


Footfalls rang on the floor behind her, and Adam fell to his knees, catching her as she leaned back with a sob. He wrapped his arms around her as she cried, and she realized with a twinge of irony that this seemed to happening a lot lately.

  
  


Finally, she straightened up, and scrubbed her sleeve across her eyes. "Come on," she said roughly. This was no time to sit around and cry. The mages were gone, but they'd be back soon. She turned towards Trish, but the little girl had faded away.

  
  


All she'd left was a crumpled velvet dress and her red coat, lying on the marble floor like the clothing of a discarded doll.

  
  


She was gone.

  
  


Frodo and Sam were making their way across the lobby. Some distance behind them, Pippin was standing on the escalator, with an unconscious Merry-hobbit propped against him. Gabe had sprinted down three levels and across the floor, skidding to a halt next to the crumpled form of Legolas. 

  
  


"Alice, I think we'd better go." At the sound of his voice, Arwen turned to face Adam. For the first time, she realized that he looked a little dazed; his eyes were unfocussed, and he seemed unsteady on his feet. She frowned, mentally replaying bits of the battle. It had all happened so fast...had Adam taken a hit, and she hadn't realized?

  
  
  
  


Then, with some sort of bizarre reverse deja-vu, Adam's knees buckled, and he fell. Arwen barely caught him before he hit the ground. 

  
  


Felix ran over and helped her lower Adam to the floor. "What's wrong with him, Lady?"

  
  


"I don't know." Arwen did a quick, clinical scan, looking for visible injuries, trying to ignore her pounding heart. No broken bones, a few minor cuts and bruises, some burns on his hands and arms; as far as she could tell, there were no serious injuries.

  
  


Then she ran her fingers over his shoulder.

  
  


"Look at this." She yanked his shirt to the side, and the ex-hobbit's eyes widened.

  
  


"Oh. Crap." commented Sam, who'd crouched beside them. "He must have killed one of the mages."

  
  


Tiny black pinpricks were breaking the skin like ink. They would eventually resolve themselves into a tattoo that was as unique as the dead mage and as unique as the killer. A design that would last as long as life.

  
  


"He's going to be in a whole lot of pain when he wakes up." said Felix. Peter was working his way across the lobby, dragging the unconscious Mark behind him with a long steady stream of muffled cursing. 

  
  


"Is it safe to move him?" Sam nodded at Legolas.

  
  


Gabe laughed, but it was completely humourless. "Even if it wasn't, we'd have to bring him anyway. We can't just leave him here."

  
  


"All right. Gimli, Sam, take Legolas. Frodo, help me with Adam. Peter..." Arwen trailed off. "Just try not to concuss Mark any more, okay?"

  
  


"Yep, I can handle that."

  
  


Gabe and Sam gingerly hefted the elf's body; the ex-dwarf winced as a rather visible blood trail dotted the floor behind them. Frodo grabbed Adam's ankles, and Arwen lifted him under the arms, trying not to jostle him any more than necessary. She blew an errant strand of hair off her face.

  
  


"Come on," she said. "Gate 54. Let's go to Paris."

  
  



	37. End of Part One

Here Ends Part One.   
  


That's right, people. Part One of the Brothers in Arms saga is finished. Complete. All done. Right, so you can expect Part Two sometime about a year from now. Sort of like the movies!  
  


Kidding, kidding. Actually, we've gotten started on Part Two already. We'll resume posting sometime in the new year, perhaps sooner, it all depends. Posting will continue under the same story. It's not going to change or anything. No Brothers in Arm 2 will pop up. Come back here to see more. One of the authors has been kidnapped by the Olympic synchro coach. The other two are headed away for their provincial curling championships. Please remember, all three Nightrunners are highly competitive athletes in their respective fields, and they're approaching open season. Be vewy vewy quiet...  
  


First off, major appreciative thanks to our beta readers, the ever-lovable Shmerin-the-Erin and the amazing Yavanna. These are the ones who make sure we don't spel stuf rong. Take a bow, ladies!   
  


We would also like to take this opportunity to thank you, our reviewers, without whose support this fic would have tragically died. We love you and cherish you all. Honest. Big snuzzle-hugs for everyone.   
  


Elf-kisses and lots of thanks to *trumpet fanfare* : Starbrat, Jessica, Ani Cir Ki, Samus, Zurizip, ElvenDragonSorceress, Europa, Emryn, Nevrantwen, coolkidkc, Rhikat, The Phantom, crazy-squirtle, Lady Cinnibar, wacky_witchie_15, ola, Elly Gamgee, Sprite, Niphrandl, Tiger Girl, Mille Nomina, Shivvy, Cloudy Magic, Shivani, mala, Aileen, Ali, Soyotome, Chrisami, Mecredi, Silent Assassin, Lasse-Lanta, Sandman, The Black Lady of Rohan, Elf Who Walks Alone, Bex, St. CatherineEvangelineWoodsorel, AloriaMoonbeem: The Last Fae, Arenel Greenleaf, Migratory Coconut, FaithOfSorrow, Aria, Emma, Seren, Tamsin Flamearrow, MegumiFuu, BurningTyger, barmy-the-elf, Lissy, Lili, Sukara Black, the PenMaster, Clarinelf, angelmad_222, Seanthi, She-cat, Net4, Emma the Lame, Argentum-Draco, romeninque, Laureril, punkpunk, KarateElf, Tough Cookie, Amazon Bitch, SKS, The Dishwasher, Tierl, Mercury, Alisha, Kat Nicholls, AsheRhyder, Letanica, Lil' wHiTe, Caramine von Strade, Jinx0-0, CN Ravenhair, Ellipsis, Alex, Shawnisgoingnowhere, The Daughter of Death, LNB, Losseniaiel, CassandrAIarwen, kat, Anya, tallhobbits85, Autumnsfox, Insane_Person_Drooling_Over_Legolas, Nurharma, Becky, Anyari No 'Min, Dark Faerie, CatchtheSnitch01, Elethril, Sobakasu, Faithfulbeyondfear, Syranade, Lassemista, Andtauriel Longwood Baggins, Winged Guardian, Vana Everyoung, Susie, Jens, Willow Whiteamber, JC Rocket, Mira Bella, Esgalfeniel, Faye, Wellduh, Lady, Cindy, Allycat, Iris, Kathreena, Laihiriel, Sunoko, HoshikoIzumi, Nikki, teen_ah, rstarbreze, Samantha, San, Arigua, and Miriam!  
  


Whew! *Nightrunners fall about comically, gasping for breath* That's a lot of reviewers! If we forgot anyone, we humbly beg forgiveness, as we made this list at approximately 1 am. We love you all, whether you reviewed once or thirty times, whether you were reviewing since the beginning or you only started last week. Blessings on your house and family, everyone. We love you all.

Ugh. Meanwhile, this story has spiralled completely out of control. Thirty-five chapters and no end in sight. Considering we haven't even met all the characters yet...let's just say we may be shooting for the dubious honour of having the longest LOTR fic on ff.net. Hope that nobody minds too much.   
  


The intrepid authoresses are considering discontinuing the pre-chapter soundtrack. We've had some readers who have violently campaigned against the songs we set for each chapter. Considering the time and effort it takes to find songs and set them to the text, we may simply stop doing it. Your reviews will factor heavily into our decision, so let us know. To song, or not to song? You decide.  
  


Jai, currently typing, made the mistake of looking over her shoulder. This is a mistake because Meg is trying to teach Dru to knit, and Jai nearly got a knitting needle in the eye. Jai must remember to face the nice monitor and let the radiation fry her brain instead. Much safer. Dru and Meg have also realized that Jai has some type of Oedipus complex, but without all that scary incest stuff. She makes reference to her eyes quite often.  
  


Anyhoozles, see what happens when you try to type in the frantic pre-Christmas season, when your penniless co-authors are trying to knit lovely wooly presents? This is what happens when you write very long stories about characters that you don't own, and consequently cannot be paid for. And when the damn publishers do not believe you're a reincarnation of Tolkien, well...the fact that the Nightrunners were born too early to be reincarnations of Tolkien probably doesn't help. Publishers are notoriously suspicious of such things...bastards. *Jai humbly apologizes to any readers who might, in fact, be publishers. She is quite sure that you are wonderful publishers and not, in fact, bastards at all.*   
  


But enough of this hilarity. This seems to be a good time to remind everyone that we are not Tolkien, and to restate the obligatory disclaimer:  
  


"Tolkien is God, and we hope he doesn't mind if we muck around in his universe. We are broke students who own nothing except our everlasting adoration for the characters and worlds he created. Wait, that's a lie. We own 2 copies of the Aragorn bookmark between us, the Ringwraiths, Frodo, and Arwen bookmarks that came with reproductions of the Ring of Power. Which don't turn you invisible, by the way. Ivory Moon was quite pissed with this development. To this collection, we have added the Galadriel, Gandalf, Legolas, and Legolas/Gimli bookmarks. *the Nightrunners cavort with glee, realizing that soon they with have collected the entire cast between them and can enact LotR puppet shows. Be afraid, be very afraid...* We can also probably scrap together several battered copies of Harry Potter, LOTR, and the Nightrunner books. These will probably not yield much in the way of monetary value should such be your aim. Also, we would like to point out that Eirual is the only one with a job, and she only gets paid one check per term. Her financial status has declined since last we spoke of it. How sad. Anyways..."  
  


Yes, this is a direct rip-off of our first disclaimer. Who has time to come up with another disclaimer? Anyway, that's enough for now.   
  


Happy Holidays to all, and may the Valar protect you on your path under the sky.  
  


Look for Part Two starting on Boxing Day!  
  


Cheers,

Meg, Jai, and Dru

The Nightrunners


	38. Part Two Prologue II Files

Authors' Note: Merry Christmas. Welcome to part two. Late comers will not be seated until a suitable break in the performance. We hope everyone had a good Christmas. We are starting on time as promised, so all of you who threatened to sic nasties on us can call them off now. This part may be a little slow starting off, but please bear with us. We have reached a compromise on the soundtrack issue. Soundtracks may appear in some chapters, but not all. We decided that if we find a song, we'll put it in, otherwise, we aren't going to loose any sleep over it. Updates may also be slow starting off, but we will try our best. Here's part two. Enjoy the show.

The Nightrunners

  
  


The II Files

  
  
  
  


The young man sat down at his computer with a sigh. His well-appointed office had been kept clean while he'd been gone; outside the large window, late snow was falling to cover the winter-brown lawns. He sighed again, and rubbed his tired eyes. He had only gotten married a few weeks ago, and he was already back to work. Of course, he did have to admit to himself that it was quite a perk to have the same job as your wife. He wouldn't have to worry about leaving her if they had to go out on assignment. He stifled a yawn; he'd been back from Tokyo for less than a week, and it was playing hell with his internal clock. Turning back to his computer, he noticed that a message had been sent to him in the last two days. Opening it, he watched as it text scrolled across the screen.

  
  


Message:

  
  


Here are the files. Please adhere to company security policies. Further instructions will follow.

  
  


II Files, Dublin Branch, Classified-Eyes Only

  
  
  
  


Name: Adam Gordon

Reincarnation of: Aragorn, Son of Arathorn, King of Gondor

Gender: male

Age: 31

Hair Colour: brown

Eye Colour: grey

Race: human

Occupation: Street Officer, New York City Police Force

Family: parents deceased, possible relatives in Paris, France 

Home: New York City

Preferred Weapon(s): service automatic (accomplished marksman), some training in hand-to-hand combat

Vital Statistics: relocated to NYC from Paris, France in 2038

  
  
  
  


Name: Alice Starr 

Reincarnation of: Lady Arwen Undómiel of Imladris, Queen of Gondor

Gender: female

Age: 29

Hair Colour: black

Eye Colour: dark blue

Race: human

Occupation: Street Officer, New York City Police Force

Family: orphaned, parents unknown, siblings unknown

Home: New York City

Preferred Weapon(s): magic, defensive and offensive, service automatic (accomplished markswoman)

Vital Statistics: Class II spellcaster, mage killer, history of depression 

  
  
  
  


Name: Legolas Thranduillion 

Reincarnation of: N/A

Gender: male

Age: unknown, 30000+

Hair Colour: pale blond

Eye Colour: blue

Race: Elf, Sindar-Sylvan mix

Occupation: none

Family: Thranduil Oropharion, father, Queen Charlotte Islands

Home: varies, currently New York City

Preferred Weapon(s): Elven longbow, knives, various guns (skilled marksman) 

Vital Statistics: mage killer, relocated to NYC (2029), history of near-fatal accidents, was a member of Roman court (Octavius Caesar), was a member of the English court (Elizabeth I), served in British Navy under Admiral Nelson (Battle of Trafalgar)

  
  


Name: Gabriel Gleason

Reincarnation of: Gimli, son of Gloin

Gender: male

Age: 36

Hair Colour: brown

Eye Colour: brown

Race: human, formerly Ereborian Dwarf

Occupation: Professor of Geosciences, Princeton University.

Family: unknown

Home: West Windsor, New Jersey

Preferred Weapon(s): military trained, highly skilled marksman with various guns, trained in several forms of hand-to-hand combat 

Vital Statistics: mage killer, served in Majic Wars as US government-trained special operative, files heavily classified, genetically-engineered for superior magic resistance

  
  
  
  


Name: Felix Baker 

Reincarnation of: Frodo Baggins, Ringbearer

Gender: male

Age: 23

Hair Colour: dark brown

Eye Colour: pale blue

Race: human, former Hobbit

Occupation: rock musician

Known Family: parents deceased, no siblings

Home: New York City

Preferred Weapon(s): knife, gun

Vital Statistics: member of rock band (Green Dragon), street denizen since early age, advanced survival skills 

  
  
  
  


Name: Sam Gardener

Reincarnation of: Samwise Gamgee

Gender: male

Age: 20

Hair Colour: blond

Eye Colour: brown

Race: human, former Hobbit

Occupation: rock musician

Known Family: parents unknown

Home: New York City

Preferred Weapon(s): knife

Vital Statistics: member of rock band (Green Dragon), street denizen since birth, advanced survival skills

  
  
  
  


Name: Peter Taylor

Reincarnation of: Peregrin (Pippin) Took 

Gender: male

Age: 19

Hair Colour: light brown

Eye Colour: hazel

Race: human, former Hobbit

Occupation: rock musician

Known Family: mother deceased, father unknown, siblings unknown

Home: New York City

Preferred Weapon(s): knife

Vital Statistics: member of rock band (Green Dragon), orphaned to streets at age 11, advanced survival skills 

  
  


Name: Mark Anderson Brand III

Reincarnation of: Meriadoc (Merry) Brandybuck

Gender: male

Age: 21

Hair Colour: brown

Eye Colour: grey

Race: human, former Hobbit

Occupation: rock musician

Known Family: parents deceased, siblings unknown

Home: New York City

Preferred Weapon(s): knife, gun

Vital Statistics: member of rock band (Green Dragon), orphaned at age 8, advanced survival skills

  
  


The young man considered calling his wife in to look at the information before him, but it was quite probable that she had received the same file. He saw no point in waking her for something she would learn soon enough. He looked to the bottom of his screen, and read the last of his instructions:

  
  


Watch them.

  
  


The game had started. He only hoped that the pawns were aware of this as well. He was looking forward to meeting them.


	39. Important : Please read this

Hi everyone. Before anyone gets panicky, we will be posting the next chapter soon. We just aren't quite sure when yet. Probably sometime in the next few days. Now down to business. Many thanks to Lady for pointing out a small problem to us. Apparently Fanfic won't let a story become more than 62 chapters long. We are at 40 and have only just started Part two. This is definitely going to run for more than 62 chapters. To avoid running out of space, we are going to start a new file for Part Two. Please redirect yourselves to "Brothers in Arms- Part Two" and continue as you were from there.

Many Thanks,

The Nightrunners,

Eirual, Sun Queen and Ivory Moon 


End file.
